


Baby, Oh, Something's Gotta Give

by thoughtless_dreamer



Category: Free!
Genre: A veritable explosion of feels after said immense repression., Also now featuring Reigisa, Angst with schmoop, Awkward First Times, Basically it's two swimming boyfriends who are stupid in love and learning how to do sex things, Because these boys deserve Nice Things, Boys lovin' boys, Cuties, First Time Blow Jobs, I love how many tags there are for awkward, Just generally a lot of feelings, Kink Meme, Language, M/M, Nagisa should be a warning tag in itself, Nagisa the Sex Guru, Super unhealthy self-repression, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtless_dreamer/pseuds/thoughtless_dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto is whatever his family needs him to be. A son, an older brother-a perfect role model. It's a 24/7 job and he fulfills it happily. If means putting his own wants and needs on hold, what of it? They come first. He can wait. He just hadn't counted on Haru stepping in to say enough was enough. Haru/Makoto.  Written for the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : _Free! Itowabi Swim Club_ isn’t mine. Sadface.
> 
> I feel bad that I haven’t put anything Free! on here, when I adore this fandom to pieces, so here, have a kink meme fill I did a while back THERE ALWAYS NEEDS TO BE MORE HARUMAKOTO. 
> 
> **Prompt: (A/N** : it’s a doozy, but I’m determined to hit it all) Due to living in a house with a two younger siblings and parents who maybe don't understand the need of privacy teenage boys have, Makoto can't jerk of. Ever. Or think of sex, because that feels wrong when he's constantly entertaining his siblings, day and night, because they are sleepless devils (not his words). Thus, he has to put his sexual wants/needs right to the back of his mind and then put them in a box. A box that, thanks to the many many responsibilities he's assigned himself, never gets opened.
> 
> Someone finds out about his celibate tendencies and decides to something about it. And will not let Makoto be selfless about it, even if they have to tie him down to achieve that. (Hypothetically). (Or not). They draw it out, make it slow almost to the point of pain and not for necessarily selfless reasons themselves, mostly because he looks pretty when he's desperate and almost (almost, I guess they just have to try harder) begging.
> 
> (Basically, I have a lot of porny Makoto feels, because he's sweet but also tall and muscular and I want someone to climb him like the attractive tree he is).

Makoto is, by nature, a creature of family. 

He is whatever his family needs him to be--the obedient son, the fun older brother, occasionally Mom Number Two, and the occasional gentle disciplinarian.

It is a twenty four seven job--and he fulfils it happily, has been ever since his dad sat him down in the waiting room of the hospital and explained to Makoto that he was going to be a big brother for the rest of his life, and it was a lifetime job. He would always have the twins looking up to him, needing his guidance, needing him to set a good example for them for the rest of their lives, and was he ready to be a big brother?

To which five year old Makoto eagerly nodded his assent, determined to be the very best big brother for the rest of his life.  
He likes to think he hasn’t failed them yet. 

Back then, Makoto adored his little brother and sister from the moment they came home. He played with them, cooed at them, and even let them tug at his hair as he talked to them, telling them all the things he’s going to teach them to do.

He patiently waited for the twins to crawl clumsily after him, and he held their tiny hands as they started to take their first steps; he kissed their bumps and bruises and skinned knees until suddenly, one day--so much sooner than he thought--there are tiny twin patters of feet constantly shadowing him.

Makoto loves them, and his parents are delighted with him--and Makoto preens under the attention and praise his parents shower him with when they tell the other parents just how good a big brother he is, and how even Makoto’s best friend, Haru, is a wonderful second set of patient, watchful eyes. 

The years breeze by and Makoto teaches the twins how to fish; Makoto teaches the twins how to swim; Makoto teaches the twins how to tie their shoes, how to write their kanji, how to do their maths, how to speak politely.

And one day Makoto blinks, and Ren and Ran have grown up before his very eyes to become his very own fanclub.

Well, his two biggest admirers start very young. As soon as they twins are old enough to hobble around, they wait impatiently by the door for him to come home, and so the house echoes with delighted screams of _“onii-chan”_ from the moment Makoto gets home, to the moment they go to bed.

“Bedtime,” however, doesn’t by any means stop them from trying to spend even more time with Makoto.

Makoto learns, very quickly that for a toddler, a closed door invites nothing but challenge.

(Because they are “sleepless devils” -- Haru’s words, not his, because they try even harder to get in when he sleeps over, because then there’s a big brother for each of them to crawl under the covers with at night.)

And besides, Makoto very quickly decides--so what if he doesn’t really have any privacy; it's not like he doesn’t have the rest of his life to make certain...important bodily discoveries for himself.

In the meanwhile, with that decision made and that kind of experimentation put firmly on hold, he can comfortably leave his door open day and night for his siblings to come running--either to whimper about nightmares or to giggle as they jump on him in the morning to wake him.

Sex can wait. He’s only in middle school, and his siblings need him more than he needs, well, whatever it is the others are constantly talking about--one day he’ll be able to figure it all out.

Unfortunately for Makoto, One Day never seems to come.

The minute the twins finally grow up enough to understand the concept of privacy is the minute his parents start depending heavily on him to run the errands they simply can’t do; because Makoto’s old enough now for them to send off into town--they simply have to walk into Makoto’s room where he’s doing his homework to ask him. 

They don’t expect to ever see Makoto’s door shut--why would it be? Makoto has always made his own space public space, so they shouldn’t be expected to have to knock, either. So at any given time they’ll simply pop their head in without warning to ask him for a favor the moment he’s not busy. To be a lifesaver and run to the store, please; won’t you please go check up on Grandma Nanase with Haru; would you mind walking the twins home from their friend’s house?

Repression, Makoto quickly comes to terms with, is his only viable option considering his circumstances--and he’s all right with that (his family will always come first). 

And it’s something Makoto learns to master very early and very quickly.  
Soon it becomes second nature rather than less deliberate effort for Makoto to learn not to even so much as think about touching himself—even if he’s starting high school, and all the boys can talk about is that new explicit manga that came out, or that new hentai anime they can’t seem to get enough of.

Makoto laughs and bashfully waves away any offers from his fellow classmates to exchange porn or hentai in school; he learns how to gently and not unkindly turn girls down when they confess their feelings for him; and that’s how Makoto’s reputation begins to proceed him.

He’s perfect husband material. He’s asexual. He’s a blushing virgin. He’s in an arranged marriage. He’s a shy, caring family sort of guy who wants to wait for The One. There’s already someone else.

Now Makoto can’t exactly argue most of the rumors that spread throughout the school--though he does manage to laugh off the silly notion that he’s already engaged, or has someone waiting for him, much to the more romantic students’ disappointment or, alternatively, delight.

As for the others, though? 

While it’s safe to ponder over whether he’s husband material (he supposes he probably is) or if he’s waiting for someone, for The One (well he’d like to think so)--the other lingering questions: is he asexual, is he a virgin? 

Those are questions he lets fly in one ear and right out the other, because to explore those questions demands that he open that box he shoves to the back of his head--the one that can never, ever be opened, not while he still has so many responsibilities to answer to, so many roles to account for.

He’s happy, really he is.

He has his beloved family, his school, and most of all his amazing friends and swim team to occupy his attention.

All is well.

And then.

It all comes crashing down. It had to.

••∞••∞••∞

It’s the first of August, a hot, beautifully clear night and they’ve gathered at Haru’s to celebrate Nagisa’s seventeenth birthday.

Rin sneaks in an expensive bottle of sake that everyone drinks freely from, save Haru and Makoto, despite Rin’s and Nagisa’s joined efforts of lighthearted taunting and pouting, respectively.

“C’mon, Haru-chan, Mako-chaaan,” Nagisa bubbles, his eyes already bright with the several shots he’s downed, leaning into Rei heavily when he trips, before exploding into giggles at himself.

“Yeah, don’t be a buncha pussies,” Rin grins sharply, abruptly shoving the bottle into Haru’s hands so the dark-haired teen has to fumble not to drop it--and he sends a mild glare at the redhead.

“Don’t want to,” Haru simply says, glancing at Makoto who’s waving their plaintive whines away. “Makoto doesn’t want to either. Drop it.”

“What Haru means, is we’re going over to my place, later,” Makoto says, smiling apologetically, and grasping Nagisa’s shoulder to steady the bouncing blond when he inexplicably leaps at Makoto at the sound of his voice.

“And more than likely, we’re going to be playing with the twins. We really shouldn’t be drinking,” he explains, gently flicking a few sparkles off of Nagisa’s button nose when they flutter down from his curls. Nagisa had popped some new year’s noisemaker he found laying around over his own head earlier when he’d blown out his candles, over an hour ago, yet they were sticking to him like glue.

“You’re a fucking pair of lightweights, is what you are!” Rin yells accusingly, pointing dramatically at the two of them, but it’s pretend righteous fury on his face.

“Calm down, Rin-san, Nagisa-kun,” Rei says firmly, though his usually intimidating glare is somewhat negated by the flush running across the bridge of his nose from his own, meager indulgence earlier. 

“If Haru-san and Makoto-san don’t want to drink anything, they don’t have to. And stop jumping on me, Nagisa!” Rei ends with an exasperated shout, catching the tiny blond’s wrists as he pathetically beats at his back, yelling in indignant fury that “They’re all –san, and I’m just –kun?! I’m older than you, Rei-chaaan~!”

“Why don’t we play a game?” Makoto asks helplessly, torn between staying by Haru’s side and relishing the soothing calm that passes over him from being in his friend’s presence, and trying to pry Nagisa off of Rei where his attention has somehow turned into a valiant effort to try and get the taller boy’s shirt off.

Nagisa is in front of him before he can blink. “That’s a great idea, Mako-chan! That’s why you’re the mom!” he hollers right into Makoto’s ear, and Makoto can’t help but laugh even as he winces at the volume, because it is Nagisa’s birthday, and all he wants is to see him enjoying himself.

“What do you suggest we play, Nagisa-kun?” Rei asks, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice steady even as he surreptitiously does up the three buttons Nagisa impossibly managed to get undone.

“Let’s play Never Have I Ever,” Nagisa trills, throwing up both hands and splaying all his fingers for everyone to see even as he drops right down where he’s standing to sit, waiting impatiently for everyone to take their respective seats and mimic his motion.

“Alright, I’ll start! Never have I ever gotten caught jacking off in the school showers,” he crows, grinning ear to ear as he throws his head back to look triumphantly down his nose at Rei, who’s a red-faced, spluttering mess, and exclaiming _“Nagisa, you idiot, you promised you wouldn’t tell!”_ even as he reluctantly lowers a finger.

Rin is laughing uproariously, but he puts down a finger of his own and is eyeing the mortified second year with a hint of admiration. “Not bad, man, not bad--I would’ve never expected something like that from you, Mister Stick Up The Ass,” he chuckles, putting his hands together in a slow clap (that Nagisa delightedly joins) before raising them up again.

Makoto’s stomach gives a nervous flop as he realizes that, the way this game is turning, he may have dug himself into a hole he _really_ doesn’t want to get trapped in (and on his own suggestion, too).

“Alright, alright--my turn,” Rin declares, glowering at everyone as if to dare challenge his authority to stake his claim for the next question, and he makes a show out of thinking, before a sly smile slides onto his face and he smirks smugly at Haru. “Never have I ever creamed my jammers,” he sneers, his eyebrow twitching a little when Haru doesn’t so much as shrug when he flicks down a finger. 

Makoto’s head whips to the side to stare at Haru despite himself, green eyes wide and surprised, a flush quickly staining his cheeks. “Haru-chan?” he asks dubiously.

Haru shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “It was years ago,” he frowns lightly at Rin, who looks like the cat that got the canary (and hasn’t even noticed the way Nagisa went very red and quiet as another finger silently went down --though that isn’t to say no one noticed). “I. Found the water jets,” he coughs, and Makoto swears he catches the briefest glimpse of a flush on Haru’s cheeks before he ducks his head.

“My turn,” Haru says quickly, before anyone can say otherwise, “Never swam any style other than free.”

Everyone curses or laughs as a finger goes down, and it feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off Makoto’s shoulders, and he smiles gratefully at Haru, for steering the questions into a completely different—

“I have one,” Rei announces as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking determined and not a little proud of himself for this next one--clearly intent on bringing the others down to his own number of fingers. 

“Never have I ever gotten caught m-masturbating by anyone in my family,” he announces proudly.

“Damn nosy sisters,” Rin mutters enviously, his face turning an interesting array of colors where he seems to blush and pale at the same time.

“Nn,” Haru makes a soft, unhappy noise as a second finger goes down as well.

“Whaaa!~ Rei-chan, that’s amazing,” Nagisa exclaims, eyes shining in a mix of admiration and jealousy. “My sisters have all walked in on me!” he cries, scrambling to his feet to make a show of bowing towards Rei. “All hail the sexy special time ninja!”

Nagisa grins as he glances about to make sure everyone is complying with his birthday demand and bowing along with him—when his eyes fall upon Makoto, who’s still got only one finger lowered on his hand.

_“Whaa?! Inconceivable!”_ Nagisa all but shrieks as he sinks dramatically to his knees to he falls prostrate before a speechless Makoto’s feet. “Rei-chan! _Rei-chan!_ There is a threat to your sexy ninja title!” he wails.

Everyone turns to stare at Makoto, taken aback but Rei looks the most surprised—clearly, he thought he would take everyone down a notch with that one.

Even Haru stares, eyes widening a fraction—and this tells Makoto two things.

Firstly, Makoto knows he’s actually stunned Haru.

Secondly, he’s (ironically) fucked. If Haru’s surprised, well, then maybe it really kind of is a huge deal, in having managed the apparently gargantuan task of avoiding the pinnacle of manly familial embarrassment up until now.

Rin, for his part, cackles loudly and stumbles over to approvingly give Makoto a hard slap on the back. “Well, well, well Makoto, my man!” he crows, smirk widening at the way Makoto can’t meet his eyes, “that’s one for the records! Didn’t think you of all people mastered getting off in private. Fuck, I always took you for a screamer,” he laughs, scratching the nape of his neck as he stares at the brunet. 

“Let us in on your secret, _sensei.”_

Suddenly, the box that’s been shoved to the back of his thoughts feels a lot heavier.

Makoto shifts uncomfortably beneath Rin’s laser-like gaze, and laughs weakly, still staring studiously at the grain of the wood. “Well. I.”

_‘Why is this suddenly such a big deal?’_ Makoto asks himself as he feels his stomach lurch in panic beneath everyone’s undivided attention, _‘these are your friends, they’re different, they wouldn’t care.’_

It doesn’t ( _shouldn’t_ ) matter that Makoto’s gotten away without explaining himself up till now. If anyone were to be sympathetic to his predicament, it would be his best friends. And, well, maybe. Just maybe, the thought of finally getting this secret off his chest sounds…well, incredibly relieving.

“I. Actually,” Makoto braces himself, before he shoves the words out in a jumbled rush, “I’ve never done that before.”

Rin blinks rapidly down at Makoto, staring with wide, red eyes for a good ten seconds before he throws his head back laughing raucously. “Secret’s gonna go with him to the grave—we're not worthy of his holy ways, Nagisa,” he snickers, shaking his head as he goes over to throw an arm around Nagisa, impervious to the dirty look Rei sends his way at the familiar motion.

Nagisa giggles loudly with him, letting the brunt of his weight fall against Rin so they’re leaning against each other heavily—and he’s too far gone to feel the way their corner of the room practically drops three degrees from the force of Rei’s glower.

“I…no, really,” Makoto struggles to get out. “I just haven’t ever--”

Explaining himself is a lost cause, though, because Nagisa chooses that moment to scream _“Inconceivable!”_ again before he tears himself from Rin’s side to grab his face.

“Nooo don’t you get it, Rin-chan?” Nagisa gasps, smooshing Rin’s cheeks between his hands--and it’s a testament to how much of a friendly drunk Rin is that he doesn’t even snap one of Nagisa’s fingers off.

“Mako-chan’s like, like a magical girl! Ooh, ooh or that chastity princess! His purity is what makes all the classmates swoon at his feet,” he giggles, letting Rin swat his hands away to stare at him.

“The fuck? What chastity princess? Are you high, Nagisa?” Rin snorts, but he looks a little thoughtful. 

“You know! You know the one! Where that one guy screams inconceivable! It’s a western movie— _Riiiin-chaaaan,_ you’re the one who went to Australia~!”

“Waitwaitwait, Nagisa, are you talking bout the fucking _Princess Bride?_ You’re calling _Makoto_ the _fucking Princess Bride_ —Nagisa, how do you even know about that shitty movie?”

“It’s not a shitty movie, Rin-chan, you take that back!” Nagisa yells, dancing around. “It’s about _wuv, twue wuv--”_ he giggles, suddenly darting over to smack a wet kiss to Rei’s cheek, much to the spluttering boy’s chagrin, “—and extortion and chastity belts!”

“Nagisa, I brought that movie home for Kou for her birthday three years ago—she made me watch that fucking film with her ten fucking times the entire holiday, there isn’t a fucking chastity belt.”

“Yeah, there is! When Robin Hood gets Buttercup in the end!”

**_“Nagisa no.”_ **

The conversation, if it can be called that, ultimately explodes into an argument about whether or not chastity belts were involved in the Princess Bride, and whether or not Nagisa was mixing it up with some Monty Python film Rin had seen in Australia--

Five minutes later Makoto laughs helplessly as they find themselves crowding around the T.V. as Rin and Nagisa continue to bicker as they set up a laptop to find the movies to stream on the bigger screen.

They watch both films. They’re both a hit with everyone, and Nagisa laughs so hard he cries at _Men In Tights,_ and doesn’t even care that he was wrong.  
As ridiculous as the films may be, something nags at the not-so-far-back of Makoto’s mind. 

He doesn’t know how he feels. He isn’t really sure whether or not he’s relieved or disappointed that the topic drops so easily, he thinks it really may have been nice to share that secret with his friends; but in the end he just lets out a sigh and decides that it probably would have been more trouble than it was worth, anyway.

“I’m gonna go get some more cake—would anyone like more?” Makoto asks as Nagisa simply falls back squealing with laughter, his face darker than even his eyes.

“I’d appreciate a cup of water, Makoto-san,” Rei asks politely, and Makoto nods, making a silent note to bring one for Nagisa as well (and then make sure he drinks it).

Makoto heads to the kitchen, leaving the drunken giggles and mocking accented English behind, and he smiles a bit at the soft footfalls behind him.  
Haru apparently needs a small break, too. Makoto isn’t really surprised.

“Are you having a good time, Haru-chan?” Makoto grins, grabbing four glasses from Haru’s cupboard to fill with water, and promptly handing one to the raven-haired teen, who takes it with a silent nod of thanks.

“Mm,” Haru hums, and Makoto figures it sounds more agreeable than not, so he nods and takes a sip from his own glass as well as he walks over to what’s leftover from the cake.

“If you need them to go soon, I can help let them know,” Makoto offers amicably, slicing a small piece of the black forest cake to pick up with his fingers and popping it into his mouth with a happy sound, chewing and swallowing before going on. “I can always say we have to babysit. Besides, the twins would love to see you--”

“You were serious, weren’t you?”

The smile freezes on Makoto’s face until it fades to nonexistence. “Ah. Yeah,” he replies simply, and suddenly the air feels a lot thicker and it’s inexplicably harder to breathe.

Haru squints at him. “So you’ve never,” and Makoto thinks that Haru is going to say something more, but he doesn’t--he patiently waits for Makoto’s response.

“O-oh. Right. Yeah, no,” Makoto stutters, feeling more than a little self-conscious when Haru’s eyes narrow further and he stares at him long and hard.

“Okay,” Haru finally nods at last, frown slipping away, and Makoto’s stomach does an interesting little flip (but, Makoto notices with an easy breath, it really does feel like he’s lighter).

Makoto gathers the two remaining glasses of water and turns to say something to Haru but the teen has already slipped away, presumably to head back to the others. 

Sure enough, Makoto’s gaze falls onto Haru who’s curled up on his favorite chair; and as Makoto passes the water to their respective recipients, as Makoto gently coaxes Nagisa into drinking his full cup of water, as Makoto bids Rin, Rei and Nagisa goodnight and walks them out the door, making them promise to send a mail the minute they get home--

He can’t shake the feeling of piercing blue eyes tracking his every move.

“Makoto.”

The brunet nearly jumps at the voice in his ear as he spins around from locking the door behind Rei, where he’d lingered at the doorway smiling as Rei grudgingly let the small blond clamber onto his back for a piggyback ride.

“Y-yeah, Haru-chan? You startled me,” he smiles, hands twitching by his sides as he urges them not to fly up to cover his heart or shriek in surprise. _‘It’s just Haru,’_ Makoto silently chides himself, _‘calm down.’_

Haru makes a noncommittal sound that Makoto accepts as apology, but doesn’t say a word for a long minute, blue eyes studying his face intently. 

“Hungry?” he says at last, eyes dropping to the ground.

Makoto splutters a laugh. “Haru, we just ate dinner a few hours ago,” he chuckles, but good-humouredly grabs Haru’s hand to tug him towards the kitchen.

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when Haru twines their fingers together.

Then it starts beating a mile a minute.

Because Haru has always held his hand, but. But not like this. Not where it feels like. Feels like he’s holding it with warmth. With his fingers squeezed around Makoto’s in what feels kind of like an embrace. Where his thumb runs back and forth over the back of his hand with a mind of its own.

It makes his fingers tingle. He faintly thinks it might run all the way down to his toes, but how can that be, when he’s not even touching him there.  
His heart--or is it his stomach?--gives a happy lurch. That’s the only way he can describe it. Makoto’s never felt a _happy_ lurch in his _life_ before, but. That’s what it is.

And he thinks—

He might—

“Dinner,” Makoto says, a little hysterically, as he unwinds their fingers and nearly throws the first cupboard open. 

It’s plates. He knows it’s plates; he knows _Haru_ knows he knows it’s plates, but he has to stop the warmth that’s pooling low and pleasant in his belly and Haru’s hands--so soft, so warm, so pretty, always have been hands—touching his makes him feel faint and dizzy and _he likes it._

He grabs two plates, if only to cover the way his hands are shaking badly, but he immediately has to set them down on the counter with a clatter, because Haru is right behind him, peering blandly down over Makoto’s shoulder.

All of the sudden Makoto is hyper aware, of everything, _of Haru._

The way his body heat seeps through the fabric of Makoto’s shirt as he presses up against him, leaning heavily against his back, looking bored. How his breath tickles against his neck as he rests his chin on Makoto’s shoulder. 

Makoto feels like he’s burning. 

Because--Haru’s standing so close, god, but hasn’t he _always_ stood close to Makoto, til he’s nearly on top of him? and is it weird, it’s not weird, why is it weird?

It’s Haru. It’s always been Haru. Haru _Haru--_

“Makoto.”

His heart is thudding against his chest painfully. It almost hurts. He wants it to stop.

(hedoesn’twantittostop)

“Onigiri,” he blurts out, hands shooting out for the next cupboard over, grabbing the packet of nori he knows is there because he brought it over last week, to make mackerel onigiri.

Because it’s normal. He needs normal. He’s always taken care of Haru. Cooked for him.

Cooking.

Cooking he can do. After all, he has to cook for the twins once or twice a week, every week, when his mother is volunteering and his father is at work.

“Makoto—”

“How’s mackerel ongiri sound, Haru?” Makoto asks and his voice does not shake and his smile does not waver as he slips out of Haru’s light grasp, busying himself opening the packet of seaweed even as he heads over to the rice cooker--thank God, there’s some leftover from dinner. “I was gonna make it this weekend, actually.”

“Makoto, sto--”

“We can use the mackerel from lunch,” Makoto’s voice rises, cracks a little, but he keeps on talking because Haru can’t talk he just can’t he was right he wasn’t ready to have this conversation, not yet, not even with Haru, **_especially_** not with Haru, because it _is Haru_ it always _has been it always has been Haru all Haru always Haru._

_**“Makoto, stop.”**_

Makoto’s mouth snaps shut as Haru shouts.

Haru has never raised his voice at him. Not once. 

But here he is, eyes flashing and face drawn and calm and furious all at once, and his voice cuts like frozen steel.

Makoto folds into himself, pressing back against the counter and arms curled around his waist protectively as he stares with wide, glassy green eyes at his best friend, who’s _just staring at him,_ looking nearly as surprised as Makoto at his outburst, but not nearly apologetic.

“Just for once,” Haru says softly, just so softly that Makoto leans in despite himself, “just stop. Stop.”

And Haru slowly, oh so slowly moves to Makoto, reaching out and grasping Makoto’s hands in his own, fingers gently but firmly prying Makoto’s fingers open from the fists they’re curled into, and he makes a reproachful face at the tiny, bright red crescents in Makoto’s palms before raising both hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each palm.

Makoto can’t breathe.

“Don’t. You don’t have to.”

Makoto’s lips move silently, and he wants to, wants so badly to ask what Haru means, _what he doesn’t have to do,_ what is he doing, what is he doing _wrong?_

“You can’t do this anymore,” Haru whispers. “You can’t do everything for everyone if it means you can’t do a single thing for yourself.”

Makoto rears back as if Haru’s struck him--in a way, he has, more than Haru could ever know. His best friend who’s made himself Makoto’s world, his _everything_ just reached deep down and tore a hole in the walls Makoto spent so many years building, reinforcing, protecting.

Makoto crumples.

“I have to,” he breathes, and he thinks he’s crying but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything anymore, “I don’t, I can’t--they need me, my family needs me,” Makoto begs, pleads, urges Haru to understand.

“I have to be so much, I have to be everything they need me to be, I have to be perfect for them, for you--”

Haru slaps him. 

Makoto’s actually grateful, in a way, because it stops the runaway train of his thoughts as they spin off into too much all at once and stops the panic crushing his chest in any further, making it impossible to breathe.

“Fuck you, Makoto,” Haru whispers, and Makoto can only hold his cheek and stare, abashed, because his best friend stopped a panic attack in it’s tracks. “Don’t you dare try to be perfect for me. Never me.”

Haru’s fingers wrap around Makoto’s wrist to tug his hand away so that he can brush trembling lips apologetically against Makoto’s pinked cheek.

“You don’t have to be perfect. You’re already everything I need.”

Makoto buckles, slides down to the floor with Haru, and cries and cries and cries.

Haru holds him, never hushes him, kisses his face and never lets go of him.

Makoto doesn’t know how long they’re sitting there on the kitchen floor, how long he spends bawling into Haru’s shirt, but he just can’t seem to stop to flow of tears. He’s horribly embarrassed, he knows Haru likes this shirt (likes him) and here he is sobbing grossly into his favorite shirt.

“I don’t care about the shirt, Makoto, I care about you,” Haru says with fond exasperation and Makoto freezes before he buries his face into Haru’s chest, mortified that he was speaking out loud; like, who even _does_ that, how _stupid_ can he be, does he do this all the time?-– “since we were kids, Makoto, it’s fine. It’s cute.”

Oh. 

Well. So maybe Haru really isn’t quite as freakishly psychic as he was convinced he was for years.

Makoto lifts his face meekly at that, and graciously accepts the tissue that he doesn’t really know how Haru got to offer him, wiping his tears and face.  
“…really think so?” he mumbles at last, barely more than a babble of sound, but somehow, as always, Haru knows exactly what he means.

“Yeah,” Haru says, gently brushing one last, lingering tear from Makoto’s cheek with his thumb. “I do. Always did,” he adds almost reluctantly, eyes straying to the tiled floor as a hint of a blush colors his cheeks.

And if Makoto can’t help but smile, who could blame him?

After all—the boy he just realized wasn’t just his best friend all these years, but the only crush he’s ever wanted, ever known, ever loved—loves him right back

••∞••∞••∞

Makoto calls his house—lets them know he’s staying over at Haru’s house for the night.

He hesitates when they ask if he can’t stay over tomorrow night--it’s such short notice, and couldn’t Haru come over instead?—but Haru grabs the phone and blithely tells them that all the guys are over and won’t let him leave.

His parents laugh and tell them to have fun.

That done, Haru turns to give a stunned Makoto a triumphant look, snaps the phone shut, turns it off and makes Makoto shut his eyes as he chucks it into an unknown drawer, to Makoto’s horror, to his delight.

“They’re going to be fine,” Haru informs Makoto calmly, as he help his taller friend up to his feet, keeping their fingers locked as he leads him out of the kitchen. “You’ve stayed over a thousand times before, and nothing’s happened. Just because it’s last minute, doesn’t mean the world is going to end.”

Makoto opens his mouth to argue as they climb the stairs but, well, he has a point.

“The others aren’t here though,” Makoto blurts out before he can think of anything else to say. “So, what are we going to--”

And that’s when Makoto realizes they’re standing in Haru’s bedroom. The walk is so second nature, so habitual, that he doesn’t even realize it until he hears the familiar _click_ of the door behind them.

Haru’s staring at him again. This time, though, Makoto swallows hard and forces himself to hold Haru’s gaze -- and now that the box is opened, it doesn’t take more than a glance to read what’s written on Haru’s face plain as day.

“I want you,” Haru sighs as he reaches up and runs a hand through Makoto’s brown hair, and it’s such a small move, that he’s embarrassed how quickly it makes his knees go so weak.

“At first I didn’t know what you were waiting around for. I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to do any of that stuff,” Haru says, so quietly Makoto has to lean in close to hear him. “I didn’t think it was because you didn’t know _how_. I was beginning to think it was me,” Haru admits, and he looks so downtrodden that Makoto nearly trips over himself to tug Haru over to the bed, sitting them both down so they’re level.

“It could _never_ be you, Haru,” and the vehemence in his own voice when he says it startles Makoto, but he carries on, eyes pricking with frustrated tears. “I just, I never thought about it. N-no,” Makoto stutters, mentally kicking himself when Haru’s eyes narrow, “I mean, I meant I never _let_ myself think about it. I couldn’t,” he confesses miserably. 

“Because you didn’t want to?” Haru queries tentatively, letting out a soft huff of laughter when Makoto’s caught between nodding and shaking his head. 

“No it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I don’t—I really don’t know, if it was one way of the other,” Makoto tries to explain helplessly, “it was just, I didn’t see any other way. To get around it? I never had time—I was too busy,” he says, shoulders slumping in relief as he finds the right words at last. 

“From the moment the twins were born--” and Haru’s eyes light up with understanding and Makoto wants to cry all over again but this time in relief “I didn’t want to make time for myself. They were too important to me,” Makoto sighs and Haru nods slightly, more to himself than Makoto.

“I just sort of. Put myself on hold--”

“And you’ve been stuck there ever since,” Haru finishes, at last, and Makoto can only nod, words suddenly sticking in his throat as the dark haired boy looms closer.

He shrinks back on the bed, flustered by the proximity, until his back meets a wall, and he realizes Haru’s straddling him where he’s crowded back against the headboard.

“Makoto?”

“Haru?” he blurts back, voice cracking embarrassingly loud.

Haru leans in til their foreheads touch, his blue eyes boring into Makoto’s green ones.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Haru tells him matter of factly.

“Oh,” Makoto says dumbly. “Okay.”

Slowly, so slow it’s nearly painful, Haru presses his lips to Makoto’s.  
And Makoto thinks he may die, it’s so soft and sweet and full of warmth. Haru’s lips are full and cool, and better than anything Makoto could dream of.

Haru releases a gentle sigh against Makoto’s mouth as he tilts his head and adds pressure and ever so slightly moves his lips, drawing a quiet whine from low in Makoto’s throat.

They finally part with a soft sound, and Makoto blinks his eyes slowly back open, cheeks flushing furiously as his gaze meets Haru’s. 

“Okay?” Haru asks mildly, but his eyes give his nerves away as they urgently search Makoto’s face.

It makes Makoto smile, because he’s so lucky to have such a caring…  
Well. Best friend, but…what else are they?

“D-does this mean,” Makoto starts before stuttering into a squeak as Haru chooses that moment to press forward, so that they fall back into the pillows, Haru sprawled comfortably on top of Makoto. Makoto squirms, embarrassed and hyper sensitive, but he shifts until their bodies are comfortably fitted against each other before he continues. “Are we—is this--do you want--”

“Makoto,” Haru sighs, pulling back from nuzzling Makoto’s neck to grace him with a blank look. “You’re the only one I want. I won’t change my mind. It’s you or no one.”

Makoto smiles so hard that it feels like his face may split, and he tries to duck his head to hide it, but Haru tips his head up, grasping his chin lightly.

“Yeah,” Makoto whispers, and his lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks as Haru presses a ghost of a kiss against the corner of his mouth, “I--Haru, me too, I…”

“I know,” Haru simply says, but he’s smiling faintly as he tucks a piece of hair behind Makoto’s ear with enough tenderness to make Makoto’s heart skip a beat. 

Makoto bites his lip, shyly reaching out to touch Haru’s cheeks, stroking his face with trembling fingers--gasping sharply when Haru leans into the touch and turns his head to graze his teeth gently along Makoto’s palm.

The idea of Haru’s mouth on his own is already nearly more than he can bear to think about, to make him tremble; but the mere thought of his mouth anywhere else…

“Oh, god, oh godohgodoh _god,_ ” Makoto chants, hands flying to Haru’s shirt to curl into it, both pushing and pulling at him as he tries to scramble away but closer still, because suddenly heat is rushing through him in an entirely unfamiliar way and it’s too much and not enough, all at once--it feels so—

"H-Haru, Haru s-sta--I don’t…I-I can’t, I have _no idea_ what I’m--how to," he gasps, stutters, tries over and over but can’t quite bring himself to say it, and his face burns in shame because he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know why his mouth _won’t listen to him._

“Makoto, it’s okay. It’s all okay,” Haru murmurs, patiently sitting back on his knees to let Makoto catch his breath, and Makoto lets his head flop back against the pillows, panting as he looks up curiously. “Just let me.”

“Let you…?” he asks, soft and uncertain.

“Let me take care of you, for once,” Haru finishes quietly, leaning in to hover over his boyfriend ( _his boyfriend,_ he has a _boyfriend_ , he has _Haru_ ) touching Makoto’s face reverently before tucking his face against Makoto’s neck and pressing their bodies flush together, a soft, pleased hum escaping him.

Makoto’s body shudders beneath Haru’s, and he’s arching before he realizes what he’s doing, pressing back as best he can and he lets out a strangled gasp when Haru’s hips align with his, and Haru cants his forward. 

Pleasure zips up his spine, exotic and overwhelming and Makoto keens loudly, slapping a hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Don’t hide, Makoto,” Haru mumbles between kisses against his jaw, blue eyes darting briefly up to meet Makoto’s cloudier green ones. “I need to see your face. I need to see that you want this. I love you. I won’t do anything you don’t want. I love you,” Haru repeats, with underlying urgency, as if it’s imperative that Makoto absolutely believe him.

Makoto gives a jerk of a nod, because he does, _he does_ , but he doesn’t trust his voice—not when his heart feels fit to burst with love, and emotion is thick in his throat.

“Ahn!” Makoto jerks with a muffled sound when the raven-haired boy lets his teeth graze against his skin, but yelps when he starts nipping at his throat, squirming when the other swimmer pauses to soothe the reddening skin with his tongue before moving on. 

Makoto tenses when a horrifying thought flicks through his mind--that he’s sure to be covered in hickies tomorrow, and what will his parents think then, and god forbid the _twins_ notice--?

Makoto _does not_ squeal in surprise when Haru’s teeth catch sharply on his earlobe, sending a thrill of pleasure thrumming through him in a way he never knew ears could.

“Stop worrying,” Haru says firmly, words muffled as he rolls the sensitive lobe between his teeth and tongue, and Makoto’s body strains between melting in pleasure and shying away instinctively when the feeling starts to affect him in other ways.

“H-Haru, nghh,” Makoto whines incoherently, desperately, fingers clutching at Haru’s back for dear life as he tries to stomp down the overwhelming desire rushing down from his head to his toes and, more importantly, other places in between. He wants to hide his face, but he forces his hands to stay where they’re tangled in the longer strands of hair at Haru’s nape, stroking shaking fingers through the silken strands instead whenever the urge arises.

It’s soothing, and familiar, and he clutches impulsively when Haru starts to push up his shirt.

“Is this okay?” Haru asks, barely above a whisper, when he has Makoto’s tee bunches up to his shoulders, blue eyes searching Makoto’s worriedly.

Makoto nods even as he chews on his lip hard, but Haru presses his thumb to his lower lip in silent reprimand, gently freeing his lip from his teeth before he pulls Makoto’s shirt over his head, shifting back to let Makoto sit up a little to help and unintentionally settling his weight in Makoto’s lap--the brunet nearly jumps out of his skin as Haru’s ass presses against his cock and he nearly sees stars.

“ _Fuck_ \--” Makoto pants as his hips grind up against Haru, unbidden, and he clasps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide in mortification. 

“Oh, god, _god_ , oh fuck, Haru, I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean--it just feels so good, d-do you want me t-to--”

(Makoto thinks he may pass out if he doesn’t breathe soon but words won’t stop tumbling out of his mouth)

“--s-shouldn’t I b-be tou-touching you back, oh-- _ohmygod I should_ , I’m, I don’t, I’m awful, I’m no good a-at this, Haru I’m so sorry,” he splutters, and he reaches down to shyly run his hand along Haru’s flat stomach and down between his legs to cup him gently and he hears Haru inhale sharply through his nose—

And then he finds himself on his back, once more, staring up with wide eyes at Haru.

Haru, who’s panting softly with arousal, his face a shade of red he’s never seen before, and looks nothing like his cool, usual self.

“Makoto,” Haru tries to say calmly, but his voice is shaking, “if you don’t stop trying to give back-- _for once in your life_ \--and just let me take care of you, I’m going to tie you down.”

He shifts uncomfortably above Makoto, reaching down to adjust his jammers as he stares balefully down at his best friend, and the brunet glances down to see why, and--

_‘Oh,’_ Makoto wonders faintly, _‘it’s me. I’m doing that to him.’_

“Do you understand?” Haru asks with as much coolness as he can muster while suffering an aching erection, and Makoto nods his assent silently, because he’s scared that he might smile, and offend his teammate.

“Just relax, okay?” Haru murmurs, in a much softer tone, and he shrugs off his own shirt before he settles himself comfortably between Makoto’s legs, nudging them calmly apart with his elbows when they instinctively try to close.

Makoto can’t stop staring down at him. Even when he wants to, when he shivers and squirms as Haru starts to kiss along his clavicle, licking and sucking along some invisible trail down his chest. Because he’s seen Haru shirtless before (he’s seen him _naked_ before, too, dozens of times) but he’s never let himself look. 

That would only invite trouble; with Haru’s milky skin and slender figure. His toned abs, lats and pecks, and his pale rosy nipples. 

(For the brief time he _did_ stare, years and years ago, if he indulged too much, he suffered dreams that he couldn’t bring himself to fulfill in the morning.)

(Somehow, enjoying those few, pleasant dreams were worse than doing nothing.)

Makoto’s always left the gawking to Gou, because she’s never been shy about vocalizing what she likes.

Now, though, Makoto can’t get enough--his eyes roaming desperately over Haru’s shoulders, chest and back--trying to take in everything all at once.

Then Haru’s mouth finds his nipple, and Makoto’s eyes slam shut as he cries out hoarsely and thrusts up into Haru’s amazing fantastic hot _sowet_ mouth.

Distantly he feels Haru's hands gently grasp his hips, pushing him down into the mattress and he cascades his fingers restlessly through his dark hair.

“I—Haru, that’s,” Makoto chokes, head lolling to the side a little as Haru drags the fat of his tongue roughly over the hardening nub, and lurching forward with a cry when he closes his teeth gently around it and sucks gently.

“Is that good?” he asks calmly, his other hand idly sliding up Makoto’s abs and stomach until his thumb and forefinger close lightly around the other. 

“Is it too much?”

“Y-ngh, no—I think, I don't, it feels…it’s so much,” Makoto pants weakly, because his head is buzzing with the rush of blood in his head, and it’s getting harder and harder for him to protest the heat building inside of him, and it’s not so much nerve wracking as it is addicting, now.

Haru makes a soft, noncommittal sound against Makoto’s skin, before renewing his ministrations with double the intent.

Makoto shudders as Haru’s kisses trails progressively lower and lower, until he’s nearly breathless, the air escaping him in long, loud moans faster than he can properly breathe when the raven-haired teen kisses down to his belly, nuzzling the soft skin just below his navel. 

He bites his tongue, hard, because he doesn’t understand the sudden frustration that’s coiling tighter and tighter in his gut and makes him want to scream for, for something. For Haru to _do something._

But what, he doesn’t have the faintest idea. Because Haru is already doing something, doing everything—slowly driving him crazy with pleasure. And he doesn’t think he wants Haru to stop, but Haru’s slow kisses all over are quickly becoming nearly unbearable, and he’s being loved all over, so patiently, so methodically, that he just doesn’t get what Haru is trying to do.

Well. He has some _vague_ ideas, but even trying to tentatively ponder them makes his cock twitch in a nearly unbearable way and it’s really embarrassing and almost painful and just too much to take in all at once.

He never knew his sides were so ticklish just above his hips. He never knew stroking the small of his back would make his knees tremble. He never knew that his navel was so sensitive, until he gives a strangled yelp when Haru dips his tongue in and out, and he huffs a little when he can feel Haru smile against his skin before drawing back to drop a random, sweet kiss to Makoto’s knee.

Makoto fights to keep watching Haru progressively move lower and lower, but eventually his eyes slide closed against the onslaught of sensation despite his best efforts.

—because it all feels so good.

Then his eyes snap open as a startled gasp escapes him when he feels Haru’s fingers ghost over the hem of his pants.

“I want to see you,” Haru says casually but earnestly, as if he’s talking about the weather, and Makoto’s face feels like it’s on fire with how furiously he’s blushing. “I want to be the first person, the only person, to have all of you, Makoto.”

Makoto’s speechless, and he turns his face away because even he can feel how dumb the face he’s making must be, because he never thought that Haru’s bluntness could be more than he can bear—but the honesty in how deeply he feels about him, in that cool tone, is a little too much for him to take.

“Haru,” Makoto whimpers, folding an arm over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath, because everything’s gone fuzzy and warm and it’s too much _sofast._

“Hey,” he hears Haru say gently, voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur. He feels the bed dip as Haru shifts, and a hand runs over the back of his softly. “It’s okay, Makoto. I’m gonna do it first.”

Makoto’s brow scrunches a little in confusion, and he peeks out from beneath his arm only for his eyes to grow huge as he watches Haru kick off his jammers, and suddenly his blood roars louder than ever in his ears as he stares at Haru’s bare form.

“Haru,” he says, barely breathing, “Haru, you’re—god, you’re beautiful,” he says helplessly, unable to pry his eyes away from Haru. He lets his eyes travel slowly down Haru’s figure -- all the way from his face, strangely open and flushed with his praise, even the tips of his ears pink, down his sculpted chest and abs, and…and lower…until he can’t tear his eyes away.

Because Haru is, Makoto swallows thickly…very gifted. His cock stands tall and proud where it curls against his belly, flushed with arousal and leaking precome. Haru looks calm and confident where he stands, utterly unconcerned and comfortable with his body. Makoto is inexplicably jealous all of a sudden; he wants to be that confident in his own skin, wishes he didn’t feel so strangely _terrified_ of his own body, and totally ignorant of how he works.

Haru’s eyes search Makoto’s, and it’s as if he can see right through him after all, Makoto is sure of it, because he simply settles down at the edge of the bed and leans over to press a soft, chaste kiss to Makoto’s lower lip. “This is new for me, too, Makoto, ” Haru mumbles between short kisses to Makoto’s face. “I might know a little more about myself than you do, but it’s fine. We’ll figure it out together. Figure you out.”

Makoto’s breath hitches at the way Haru’s blue eyes darken with interest. “I want to know everything. Everything about Makoto,” he says, and it sounds like a promise and it sends tingles rushing down Makoto’s spine.

And then his hands are at Makoto’s hips again, and his eyes are searching his own green ones for answer and Makoto simply closes them and gives the tiniest nod, lifting his hips to help Haru as he tugs his shorts down over his hips, and Makoto whimpers his embarrassment when his boxers get tugged down with them in one fluid motion.

So far, everything with Haru has been constant motion. Makoto hasn’t even noticed until now.

He does, though, because suddenly, Haru freezes.

Slowly he cracks open one green eye, and then the other, staring up worriedly through his lashes at Haru, who doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

“Is…Haru….are you…is theresomethingwrong?” Makoto asks, his voice a little higher than usual as panic threatens to burst into something like angry butterflies in his stomach.

That seems to get Haru’s attention, because his head whips up and he pins Makoto with a _Look_ that unequivocally screams _**‘no.’**_

Makoto isn’t used to seeing such pure emotion on Haru’s face--not unless they’re near a body of water--so to have such a passionate look directed at him…

It makes his toes curl happily and a shy smile threatens to tug at the corners of his mouth and he thinks he could die happy if Haru always looked at him that way.

“Makoto, _no,_ ” Haru breathes, his eyes shining with feeling as his gaze is helplessly drawn back down from Makoto’s face, eyes roaming hungrily over his prone form. “You’re…you look…”

Haru shakily covers his mouth with the back of his hand and Makoto blinks in concern when he simply shakes his head.

“I’ve thought about this so much, Makoto,” Haru confesses, voice shaken. “I’ve dreamed about this for years. Dreamed about _you_ for years.” 

His eyes flicker back to Makoto’s face, expression so earnest it makes Makoto’s cheeks pink. “You’re the only one I’ve ever had feelings for. The only one I ever dreamt about, the only one I wanted to fantasize about. And it’s just,” Haru’s voice breaks off, and he shakes his head as if he has water stuck in them. Makoto laughs weakly until he trails into silence, when Haru’s bright, too blue eyes find his as he finally finds the words he’s looking for. 

“All the dreams I’ve ever had, combined, couldn’t _possibly_ do you justice.” 

It’s too much for Makoto to bear, and he covers his mouth with his hands, eyes brimming with tears, because Haru’s happy, happy with him, happier with him than whatever Makoto he dreams up, and he can’t help but laugh and cry a little, overwhelmed with emotion.

Haru moves so he’s hovering over Makoto, knees on either side of Makoto’s trim waist and arms braced on either side of Makoto’s head. Silently, he continues to let his eyes drink in their fill of his boyfriend, sprawled beneath him.

Makoto swears he can feel heat sear over his skin in the wake of Haru’s heated gaze, and wonders how he can possibly feel any warmer.

And then Haru wraps his hand around Makoto’s cock.

_“Oh, _ **god** ,_ Haru--!”_ Makoto gasps sharply, his voice breaking as his breath hitches loudly, painfully, and he forgets whatever he wanted to say, because heat and pleasure crashes over him harder than he could have ever imagined, and Haru hasn’t even _done_ anything yet—

“Fuck,” Haru breathes, eyes glued to Makoto’s face as he gently curls his fingers tighter and rips a wordless, hoarse cry from Makoto’s throat -- pulling a similar, desperate sound from Haru.

Makoto jerks and trembles with even the slightest move of Haru’s hand, and Haru’s eyes go dark and hungry as he pulls moan after moan from the brunet’s lips.

“Oh, Makoto,” Haru groans, his own cock twitching in sympathy whenever Makoto cries a little too loudly, or his hips snap up toward his touch. “You look so good like this.”

Makoto wants to hide his face from Haru’s sinfully smooth, low voice, but he can’t seem to unclench his fingers where they’re twisted into the covers for purchase. 

“I-I- cant,” Makoto chokes out through a shuddering breath, because his cock is throbbing in Haru’s hand and he knows what’s coming but _he can’t know what’s coming._

Suddenly Makoto can’t breathe; he can’t take it anymore, it’s altogether not enough and too much, at the same time. “It’s—hah- _Haru--!_ S’too-g-good, Haru--n-n _ghhaah--”_

His back curves up and off the bed as Haru does _something with his hand_ and Makoto does his best to lift his head, craning his neck to look and _oh_ —

Oh fuck oh _**fuck**_ Haru’s jerking him off, taking his sweet time and teasing into a slow, painfully slow rhythm that has Makoto seeing stars with each flick of Haru’s hand.

“Haru-- _Haru,”_ Makoto sobs, and he’s distantly aware that he’s stuttering out a steam of nonstop nonsense, begging him to _stop, please don’t stop, so good, too good._

He needs Haru to understand, _Haru has to understand_ – doesn’t he know what he’s doing to Makoto? Can’t he tell it’s too much for him to handle, he doesn’t _know how to—_

Overwhelming _need_ takes over Makoto, and panic crashes headlong into confusion. Makoto keens and thrashes as he tries to fight back what feels like too much, so much he’s going to _die--_

“Makoto, let go,” Haru says softly into his ear, kissing the skin just beneath gently.

“Can’t, I can’t,” Makoto whimpers as he tries to shy away from Haru’s touch because everywhere their bodies touch feels like it’s on fire and there’s a terrifying edge of _something_ he’s rocketing towards but he can’t fall over _he **can’t** he doesn’t know **what it is** _—__

__“I’ve got you, Mako-chan, I’m here,” Haru promises fervently, bracing his weight on his forearm as he plants it on the pillow above Makoto’s head, leaning down to press his forehead to Makoto’s with a shivery sigh, shifting, and then—_ _

___And then—_ _ _

__Makoto’s eyes fly open as Haru’s cock slides against his own, and Haru’s longer, slender fingers just barely manage to wrap around the both of them. Haru shudders over him, nuzzling his face against Makoto’s, his hot breath fanning softly over his cheeks._ _

__“S’okay,” Haru gasps, eyes cloudy but fixed intently on Makoto’s, “S’alright Makoto, I’m gonna go with you, ’kay? Together, we’ll do it together.”  
Makoto couldn’t stop the cresting wave of the unfamiliar if he wanted to, but the last, semi coherent thought he has is that he’s glad Haru’s going with him; because the slick hotwet _sogood_ slide of their cocks rubbing together is too much for him on his own –_ _

__They cry out in tandem when, suddenly, there’s even _more_ – _more_ heat, _more_ touch, _more_ pressure—and Haru’s eyes snap open wide to meet Makoto’s -- because._ _

__Oh. His hand is covering Haru’s, his larger fingers clasped around and moving with Haru’s, holding tight for dear life and._ _

__Everything goes white._ _

__Pleasure crashes over Makoto hard and fast, like nothing he could have ever dreamed up, and he thinks he might be screaming or crying or saying something, but it’s okay. It’s okay because Haru’s solid weight over him anchors him, cradles him, and the panic crawling up his throat lets go and gives way to a lightheaded giddiness._ _

All he can think of is Haru _Haru **Haru ******did this, he came with me he promised he would and he’s here_ \-- and there’s hot, wet stickiness staining his and Haru’s fingers to prove it (he knows in some small tiny insignificant part of his brain that he isn’t really making any sense right now but he doesn’t give a _fuck_ ). 

__Not when, for the first time he can remember, he feels absolutely peaceful.  
__

There’s a warmth tingling from the very tips of his fingers, all the way down to his curled toes, and the rush of blood and steadily slowing _thudthudthud_ of his heart pounding in his ears is like the gentlest white noise he’s ever heard and then. 

__And then there’s Haru._ _

__Haru who’s covering him like a cocoon, draped over him like the most comfortable blanket Makoto’s never had, and he’s gently brushing his mouth over Makoto’s face, kissing away the dampness from Makoto’s cheeks (and oh, he’s crying) but Haru doesn’t say a word, merely smiling against Makoto’s flushed cheeks as he whispers praise after praise, mumbling thank you after thank you, _thank you Makoto, I love you Makoto, thank you for being Makoto_ , and Makoto lets out a slightly drunken sounding laugh because Haru’s just as out of it as he is._ _

__Finally Haru pulls back to search Makoto’s face. “Hey,” he whispers, as if afraid to break the peace._ _

__Makoto smiles crookedly back, “Hi, Haru-chan,” he laughs breathlessly, chest still heaving beneath Haru’s, but the other boy doesn’t seem to mind if the way he nods (short and satisfied) and settles his cheek down into the hollow of Makoto’s throat is any indication._ _

__“Was that okay?” The question is barely audible over the harsh, short pants Makoto is making but it’s _Haru_ and he’s always been able to catch Haru’s softest mumble, and Makoto smiles even though Haru can’t see it._ _

__“That was _amazing_ , Haru,” he gushes back, a little shyly. And Haru nods against his shoulder, shifting the arm splayed over their heads down to wrap around Makoto’s waist before he stills once more._ _

__“Yeah,” Haru agrees quietly. “I…that was a first for me, too Makoto,” he mumbles, and Makoto swears he can feel Haru’s face burn against his shoulder. “I’ve never done anything like… _that_ with anyone before.”_ _

__Makoto jerks in surprise, gaping down at the top of Haru’s hair. “That—what—really?” he finally manages weakly, trying desperately to see Haru’s face. All he can see, though, is the way Haru’s hair flutters as he nods again once, shortly._ _

__“But you…you were so sure about what you were doing,” Makoto says, dazed. Haru huffs a laugh against his damp skin and finally raises his head to gaze at Makoto with fond, knowing eyes._ _

__“I’ve woken up from that dream a hundred times, Makoto – that doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing,” Haru snorts, but he looks inordinately pleased, so Makoto guesses it’s alright._ _

__“I’m glad it was with you,” Makoto whispers finally, and Haru stills for a moment on top of him, but then curls ever tighter around his taller boyfriend, tangling their legs together and gripping their sticky fingers tighter._ _

__“I love that I got to see that face for the first time you ever made it,” Haru confesses. “It was amazing.”_ _

__Makoto swears his face can’t get any hotter. “It was probably really stupid,” he bemoans, covering his face with his free hand. Haru shakes his head vehemently._ _

__“No, it was really sexy,” Haru insists, a slightly far away, dreamy look passing over his cool features. “I’ll never forget it…” his smile morphs into a smirk and he looks at Makoto so hungrily that Makoto’s breath hitches. “Now I’ll always have to strive to make you make that face every time.”_ _

__“Haru!” Makoto half yells, half squeaks. “That’s so dirty!”_ _

__Haru lets out a considering hum, and Makoto’s heart both flutters and sinks at the way Haru’s tilted his head in the way that means he’s decided to accept some challenge._ _

__He’s only ever seen it when Haru’s about to make a particularly gargantuan effort to make a run for some sort of body of water he is absolutely, under no circumstances, not ever allowed to indulge in._ _

__“No,” he lilts, “that’s not nearly as dirty as this,” and he raises their hands to pop one of his and one of Makoto’s fingers into his mouth to suck clean.  
__

Makoto shrieks, and Haru nearly falls off both Makoto and the bed in surprise and he scrambles to cover his mouth. 

__“ _Makoto,”_ he gasps a laugh, “Makoto--I’m sorry, look, it doesn’t even taste bad,” and he keeps his sticky palm pressed over Makoto’s mouth until the green eyed teen gives a tiny, tentative lick with a shudder, cheeks scarlet._ _

__“I-I guess so,” he says reluctantly, when Haru removes his hand expectantly. Haru rolls his eyes but he’s fighting a smile as he tucks himself beside Makoto, and they’re quickly lulled into a drowsy, half-aware state from both afterglow and sheer exhaustion._ _

__“There’s so much I want to learn about you, Makoto,” Haru whispers just as Makoto feels himself nodding off, and he makes a tiny, questioning sound as he tilts his face towards Haru’s._ _

__“I want to know the way you taste when I kiss you in the morning. I want to know if the way you say my name is different when I make you cum with my mouth, instead of my fingers. I want to know the face you make when I’m inside you,” he murmurs, and now Makoto gasps at the feeling of arousal curling low in his belly at Haru’s words, (he delights, with no small amount of satisfaction, that he can place a name to the feeling for the first time)._ _

__“Haru, that’s…” Makoto trails off, ducking his head to tuck his head beneath Haru’s to hide his smile of anticipation. “I’d like that,” he whispers back. “All of it. A lot.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : I’ve been 110% busy with finishing collage this past semester, but I DID IT FINALLY (/fistpump) and I really loved writing this way back when in December, and I definitely wanna come back to it, now that I’m FINALLY gonna have the time. 
> 
> So lemme know what you think; I’m thinking of exploring their further exploits, or maybe even a chapter of Haru’s side of things, wondering about when Makoto’s going to get around to realizing that they belong together. WHO KNOWS? I don’t. It’ll be fun, though, I loved writing this prompt~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, but 11k of these approximately 13.5k ridiculous words happened in the last two days simply because I love you all _that much._ I really didn't wanna leave you hanging after I promised I'd have this up any day now, so here it is, I'm posting it, and wringing my hands a little ~~a lot~~ 'cause I hope it's good enough.
> 
> So here, have at -- Happy Halloween!! Here's a treat for you all -- I really hope it was worth the wait, my fabulous darlings. <3

Impossibly, in an astounding turn of events that Makoto barely dares to believe, nothing changes.

Well. Not _nothing,_ per se. After all, he has a boyfriend now. He has _Haru._

But where Makoto expects some sort of overwhelming change – _something,_ for the world to tip over and shift, for everything to be new, and different and _terrifying_ – there is only normalcy.

There is still routine. 

He still stays home with the twins; still helps them get ready for school, walks them home from play-dates and cooks the entire household's dinner Thursday nights.

He still juggles summer training and school work and the expected everyday chores, sometimes literally starting the day off running.

On those days, he wakes up at dawn to go jogging along the beach with Haru, Nagisa, Rei -- sometimes Rin, and ends the day late in the evening when he stumbles in through the door, arms laden with groceries and usually at least one twin clinging to his back while another whines at his heels, tugging at his sleeve.

He's still the one to wake Haru up and coax him out of the house.

But it's _not_ the same. It's not the same anymore, because--

Because where Makoto used to have to call out after the twins exasperatedly when they bickered in their seats while he tended dinner on the stove, now peals of laughter echo in the dining room while Haru keeps them entertained, a gentle second pair of calm, helpful hands.

Because while Makoto used to nearly collapse onto the sofa by the time he got home from a day full of training and errands, Haru manages to carry one sleeping twin on his hip and the other dozing on his back as he pads beside Makoto as they all walk home from a second outing to the fish market at Mrs. Tachibana's embarrassed, last-minute plea.

Because now, months later, sometimes, in a turn of events that Makoto never saw coming—he isn't always the one getting Haru up in the morning.

"G'm'rning, Haru-chan,” Makoto mumbles through a sleepy smile, slowly blinking his eyes open to meet Haru's, already awake and open from where he's resting his head on Makoto's pillow barely a hair's breadth away, and gazing quietly at him with alert, deep blue eyes.

Haru makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat that Makoto accepts as his good morning in return, and he gives a soft sigh of contentment as he wriggles lazily closer, curling the arm thrown haphazardly over Haru's waist tighter to draw Haru's lean body nearer. 

Haru give an indignant grunt at being jostled, but he buries his face into Makoto's neck to breathe him in deeply, so Makoto figures he doesn't mind all that much.

His face grows hot, though, when Haru decides to shift until he's straddling Makoto's thigh, and he tries to hide a sheepish giggle by clearing his throat when Haru presses his clothed arousal against him with a quiet exhale.

“Did you have any good dreams? Haru-chan,” Makoto lilts with a shy, sly grin; his voice quivers on the _-chan,_ though, because Haru chooses that very moment to align their hips properly, rocking gently against him.

“You talk too much, too early,” Haru says bluntly, startling a loud laugh from Makoto and Haru moves to press his mouth against Makoto's, morning breath and all, when he opens his mouth again to retort indignantly, eyes sparkling. But Makoto can feel Haru's own answering smile against his lips, so he thinks Haru's okay with it, if it gives him an excuse to kiss Makoto quiet like he wants.

After all.

It's only one of the many things that Haru wanted to know about him, how he tastes being kissed in the morning, and maybe it's a little embarrassing but it still fills his stomach with butterflies and makes his heart pound.

The only thought that can make it pound harder is what _else_ Haru has asked to learn with him.

But for now, his heart races not just from his escalating trail of thought, but the way Haru shimmies out of his boxers and kicks them off to the side before starting to tug at his own. 

Makoto obligingly lifts his hips for him, cheeks flushing dark as he bites his lip but he doesn't look away, doing his best to boldly meet Haru's eyes.

Haru says he likes to look at him, likes to see the faces he makes. It's really embarrassing, but Makoto thinks it's more romantic than anything, so he tries his hardest not to shy away. 

It's new for him, all of this, and Haru—amazing, patient Haru—understands that he's had a great many more years to come to terms with his own sexuality, and he never pushes, never asks for anything more.

But it's.

It's just that.

Makoto thinks he might.

 _You know._ Be ready. For more.

But... he doesn't know for sure. How _can_ he know? 

How can he possibly know, when for the last eighteen-odd years, he's been purely nothing but chaste? Until, about three months ago, he hadn't has his first kiss, let alone handjob?

He...he knows he probably isn't ready to go _all the way_ —not if the very thought is enough to make his face burn hot enough to make him cover it, even when he's alone—but he's been... thinking...wondering—er— _fantasizing._

God it's so embarrassing. He's spent so many years (too many) burying and vehemently denying any thoughts of a sexual nature, that now it's really _really hard_ to let himself take that step, to touch himself on his own.

It'd taken Haru the better part of two months to encourage Makoto to take time to figure his body out on his own--and despite himself his mouth twitches up in a bashful smile at the exasperated _no, Makoto_ in his head that sounds suspiciously like his boyfriend, _I really don't care if you do that sort of thing on your own, it's probably good for you._

The small smile that started to form drops off as his face grows hotter at the unbidden, blasé _then you can **show** me_ that gets tacked on at the end--

_See?_

Like that.

That's _exactly_ what he means. He's had these embarrassing thoughts running rampant for weeks now—what would Haru's face look like if he really _did_ sit him down and make him watch? 

Would he touch himself, too—even if Makoto...told him... _toldhimhecouldn't?_ Or what would he say if _Makoto_ said he wanted to watch _Haru?_ What if he told Haru he...

He wanted to...

Wanted him to try...

The thought's still too much for Makoto to so much as ponder _in the safety on his own head,_ and he whines loudly into Haru's mouth—but thankfully it's at the same time Haru suddenly deigns it to be about time to start moving properly. 

After that, all of his thoughts go flying out the window as Makoto's world narrows down to the sheets gripped tight in his left fist, the fingers of his right scrabbling at Haru's nape, and the sweet, slow ache building up low in his belly as their hips meet in undulating little rocks.

Haru always takes his time, treats sex like they have all the time in the world, even when they’re just making a quick stop at Haru's before they make it back home from school to watch the twins.

Or, even sometimes — to Makoto's never ending _frustrationhorrified **delight**_ — when the twins, impossibly, knock themselves out halfway through the evening while they're babysitting, over-excited to have both of their undivided attention—even falling asleep in their arms while they obligingly play video game after video game to entertain them.

Haru says Makoto always makes this tiny, desperate sound that he's never sure is happy or horrified, when he first sneaks a kiss to Makoto's ear and tilts his head questioningly.

He smiles and tells him he's never seen Makoto maneuver the sleeping set of twins to their beds quite so dexterously as he does then.

His eyes darken and his hands slide down Makoto's sides as he promises his boyfriend he's never felt his heart race quite the way it does when Makoto's closed the door to the twins’ room behind them—squeezes their joined hands together tighter and lets Haru tug him all the way back to his room. 

And then, only then, meets Haru's eyes and gives a special, mischievous little smile that makes him ache in the best possible way.

Haru says there's nothing quite like watching Makoto fall apart slowly, when he's trembling beneath him with trepidation, eyes constantly flickering back towards the door – because there's nothing better than the moment he stops looking away from him, when he can't quite control the volume of his moans anymore, because then he _knows then_ he's Makoto's entire world, and there isn't anything more amazing than that.

“Makoto,” Haru pants softly into his ear, his warm breath huffing against the sweat slick skin of his neck, his lips glossing gently over the sensitive skin, already red with affection. 

“You taste so _good,”_ he murmurs, and if that isn't enough to make Makoto's breath hitch, and his mind to run into overdrive again, Makoto doesn't know _what_ is.

Because isn't that exactly what he wants?

For Haru to _taste_ him, to taste _Haru_ in return?

Hasn't that been all he's been able to imagine for the past few weeks?

But that's so--!  It's just--...he doesn't know how to ask. Doesn't even know how to go _about_ asking. How could he?

Because.

Because what would Haru _think?_ Isn't that just too _weird,_ too _fast?_ —when Haru knows, is the only one who _really_ knows, firsthand, how Makoto is such a novice to this? 

That Makoto's spent the last eighteen years up until now unaware of his body, of his sexuality?

He's so damn new to this, who the hell is _he_ to think he's ready for something more – especially something as, as _intimate as that._

No. Makoto is happy, unbelievably, over-the-moon happy to have Haru, to have what he _has_ with Haru, and he won't breach anything new, too fast, too soon. He won't mess what they have up.

Besides, how can he keep worrying and wondering when he's so close to coming apart just by Haru's clever hands alone?

 _“Haru,”_ Makoto pants out in warning, and then, again, _“Haru!”_ twisting and tugging at the sheets as his climax approaches hard, and sudden, all at once—and he arches helplessly up against his boyfriend, letting out a soft keen as Haru's weight keeps him pinned where he is, slave to _Haru's_ hand, _Haru's_ pace.

Haru's mouth quirks despite his own short, soft gasps for breath, and curls his fingers tight around their erections, and then they're coming all at once, practically within the same heartbeat; Haru biting back a groan and Makoto smothering the wail that tears from his throat by digging his teeth into his own palm, green eyes clenched against the somuch _toomuch_ perfect onslaught of pleasure.

They wind down together, chests gradually slowing from their nearly painful heaves until they're breathing in slow, easy sync, in that weird way they tend to do when they’re pressed up against each other.

“Mm, Haru-chan, what time is it?” Makoto mumbles at long last, because where the room was once still cast in lingering shadows, sunlight struggling feebly to make its way through the slatted blinds, the light isn't nearly as muted anymore. 

In fact, Makoto realizes with growing trepidation as he blinks and looks around, there are cheery sun rays stretched across the wooden floor as far as Haru's dresser, and that's Not A Good Sign.

“Seven thirty,” Haru answers helpfully, and makes an unhappy noise when Makoto veritably throws him off with the rest of the covers, scrambling madly out of bed with a slew of frantic nonsense sounds as he scrambles for the armchair to snatch his uniform from it's rightful place gently folded up and resting neatly on the arm.

Except--

“Haru,” Makoto begins patiently, “where's my shirt.”

It's not phrased as a question, because it isn't a question. Makoto doesn't need to turn around to arch an eyebrow expectantly at his boyfriend, who'll be staring blankly out the window in an innocent, silent I Don't Know What You're Talking About stare.

And not anywhere near his bag, which is oddly stuffed for _Haru's_ bookbag.

Haru, who barely even remembers to bring his schoolbooks if Makoto doesn't pester him.

“You have others,” Haru grumbles, not sounding nearly as perturbed as he probably means to as he steps gracefully and shamelessly from his bed to walk out down the hall. “You can just grab one from your place while I'm in the bath--”

Or, that's where he'd _been_ headed before Makoto gently intercepts, grasping his arm without batting an eye and marching him towards his closet despite the look Haru shoots him over his shoulder.

“We don't have time for a soak, Haru, you know very well where that time went this morning. And that means we don't have time for me to ninja my way into my room past the twins,” Makoto chides, willing himself unsuccessfully not to blush furiously as he gives Haru a pointed glance even as he rifles through Haru's messenger bag, snagging his impossibly wrinkled shirt out of Haru's bag and shaking it out with a long, fond sigh.

Haru recently discovered his love for stealing his boyfriend's shirts, because despite the way they hang off of him, he declares there's nothing better than going to sleep or waking up wrapped up in a shirt that smells like Makoto when he can't have the real thing.

Damn it, Makoto just can't get _mad_ at Haru over something as adorable as _that._

Even if it means he's been missing over thirty percent of his wardrobe for weeks.

Haru makes a few grumpy sounds but quietly dresses himself – in clothes that fit him _properly,_ Makoto notes with vague amusement and a bit more satisfaction – and Makoto turns to focus on dressing himself as quickly as possible, because if he lets Haru finish first, he's going to go downstairs and start grilling mackerel and they just _don't have time for that._

By the time Haru flounces downstairs in his version of a huff, Makoto's already toasted two pieces of bread and cut them into his best impression of a dolphin. 

Haru looks as though he wants to object to their breakfast, but he's having a hard enough time as it is just keeping the corners of his mouth straight as he stares at Makoto's improvisation.

He settles for grabbing his piece from an innocuously smiling Makoto before turning to walk out the door, cramming the whole thing in his mouth for an excuse to muffle the laughter that Makoto does not, in fact, miss--shaking Haru's slender shoulders even as he opens the door.

Haru miraculously deigns to forgive Makoto for his slight by the time they reach the bottom of the stone staircase of the shrine, because they hold hands the entire way to the station.

And it's perfect.

Makoto chides himself for even thinking of asking for anything more.

••∞••∞••∞

“Rei-chan, gimme more of your bento.”

“Nagisa-kun, _if you please_ —you've already eaten a third of it,“ Rei replies despondently, sighing heavily and holding his lunch easily out of the whining blond's lazy reach ( _“but it tastes so goooood!”_ ) spluttering with embarrassment when Nagisa dramatically flops face-first into his lap, muffling a defeated _“I'm a growing boy, Rei-chan.”_

“Nagisa-kun, if it eluded your notice, we're in public,” Rei hisses despite his furious blush, refusing to meet Makoto's amused gaze (Haru's far too busy gazing out over the roof towards the pool as usual to pay the scene before them any mind).

“And what's more, you know that I balance my meals _precisely,_ for optimum nutrition,” he adds with a little more pride, “having you steal bites isn't conducive to an— _mmph!”_

“Rei-chan needs more sugar in his diet,” Nagisa informs Makoto sagely as Rei gags on the very pink, very sweet strawberry flavored red bean cake Nagisa has graciously stuffed into his mouth. He gazes at the glowering blue-haired teen fondly before he leans in to steal a peck from the corner of Rei's mouth to kiss away a smudge of powdered sugar.

Makoto is vaguely impressed that Rei doesn't faint right then and there on the spot, what with all the blood that rushes to his cheeks at the speed of light; but he doesn't react the way Makoto half expects – all impulse and social awkwardness and shouting to hide his immense embarrassment.

Rather, he merely takes a long, deep breath before letting it rush out, resigned and—with a flicker of a self-conscious glance in Makoto's direction (the green-eyed teen makes sure to let his own eyes flit away respectfully, barely biting back a smile)—he turns into the kisses Nagisa is peppering over his cheek to sneak a chaste one full on the lips.

Makoto can't help but watch in awe from the corner of his eye as Rei bashfully ducks his head to hide his reluctant smile when Nagisa gives him one of his blinding smiles—because if he can hardly believe the steps he and Haru have taken, he's blown away by the leaps and bounds Rei and Nagisa have made.

As it turns out, Rei and Nagisa had had a conclusive night of their own, the rest of the evening (morning?) after Nagisa's drunken birthday bash -– not quite so much in action, but words; with the sake finally loosening Rei up enough to cave into acting on Nagisa's babble about “how cute Rei-chan is,” and “how adorable it is when Rei-chan blushesl” and “wow, Rei-chan, your eyes are huge, seriously--hasn't anyone told _you_ how beautiful you are before?”

While their confessions only lead to a sweet first kiss under the streetlight by their station and cuddling all night long during the ensuing sleepover at Nagisa's, Nagisa has, unsurprisingly, proven to be someone who loves nothing more than to kiss and tell.

And, of course, this means shamelessly sharing _much_ more than kissing.

Over the last few months, Nagisa has been dropping hints like they're going out of style—gleefully cackling when he manages to produce a scandalized reaction.

This is precisely what happens next.

(Which should really surprise exactly no one, and yet makes Makoto choke decisively on a roll.)

“You should learn to swallow properly, Rei,” Nagisa smiles earnestly. “I'd really have thought you'd have had enough practice by now.”

There is dead silence interrupted only by Makoto's wheezing and the sounds of Haru pounding him on the back for a good ten seconds before anyone can respond to the devilishly smiling blond.

“No one wants to hear about you getting blown, Nagisa,” Haru informs him dryly, rubbing Makoto's back soothingly in silent apology for the lifesaving smack-down it endured before.

“But sharing is caring, Haru-chan” Nagisa chirps back without batting an eye, and Makoto swallows thickly, painfully as he tries to get his mouth to work again, gratefully taking the water bottle Haru passes him and throwing back half the bottle to try and soothe his throat.

“See, Rei-chan?” Nagisa yells excitedly out of the blue, grabbing a worrisomely still Rei and jostling him back and forth as if to try and bring him back to earth from whatever dimension he's tried to flee to escape this torture. “Lookit what a pro Makoto is!”

 _“Nagisa,”_ Haru snaps, because he's pounding Makoto's back frantically again and he casts his gaze between his spluttering boyfriend and Nagisa where he's rolled onto the ground laughing hysterically, nearly as out of breath as Makoto.

Makoto can't meet anyone's eye, and Haru refuses to stop glaring daggers at the smallest swimmer, until the little blond slinks away to cower quietly behind his utterly fed-up boyfriend.

“Oh, c'mon, Haru-chan,” Nagisa teases from the safety of his boyfriend's shadow, “it's not like you 'n Mako-chan don't know what we're talking about, it was just a joke—”

“I don't _care,_ Nagisa,” Haru cuts in coolly as he spears a piece of mackerel on his chopsticks to bring to his mouth. “Nobody wants to hear about you and Rei swallowing each other's dicks.”

Nagisa opens his mouth to reply with an undoubtedly witty counter, but Rei slaps a hand over his mouth, face just as aflame as Makoto's and silently, _emphatically_ shaking his head _**no.**_

Makoto still finds it within himself to give an only _slightly_ stricken sounding laugh at the look of utter betrayal on Nagisa's face from the bridge of his nose up.

Any strain in his laughter is gone in the next instant, when Rei lets out the shrillest scream Makoto's ever heard come out of the athlete as Nagisa licks the palm of his hand.

Everyone turns back to their lunches after that, Rei and Nagisa starting off on one of their usual, playful bickering arguments and Haru rolling his eyes and turning away.

Makoto just stares down into his own barely touched bento, the same of which Haru is steadily polishing off beside him, because they made them together last night, and quietly despairs over how, as of late, all of his existential issues seem to be raised unwittingly by his friends and glossed over.

It doesn't make not thinking about it any easier, and that's all Makoto wants; is to stop...thinking about it! Thinking of things like that, thinking of really _really_ embarrassing things, _especially right now, **in public.**_

“Makoto?” He jumps at the sound of his name, quiet as it is, and he swivels his head to glance at Haru, who's eyeing his nearly untouched lunch warily. “Are you feeling alright?”

It's all Makoto can do not to smile, even with the angry butterflies in his stomach making it feel like his gut is twisting itself into tiny knots. “I'm alright, Haru-chan,” he says easily, and he means it—he's alright.

He will be.

He just needs...a moment.

Or something.

“I'm just not feeling too good,” he admits, idly placing a hand over his stomach and giving a slightly exaggerated grimace before gathering himself to his feet. “I'll be right back, okay? Just gonna try and walk it off.”

Haru stares at him for a few questioning seconds longer, eyes scanning Makoto's face before he slowly nods at whatever it is he sees there, turning his attention back to his lunch.

“It's because Haru's eating mackerel with pineapple again,” Nagisa stage whispers to Rei, who can't seem to quite hold back a reluctant smile at the memory it provokes.

“Which, by the way—keeping pineapple in your diet? Super courteous of you, Haru.”

“Actually, I'm pretty sure it was your dick jokes—which, by the way, shut up, Nagisa,” Haru shoots easily back, and Makoto nearly stumbles down the stairs as their witty banter (most of which admittedly goes over his head) follows his exit and decline.

From the sounds of it, though, it's raunchy enough for Rei to take a turn to choke on his lunch.

Makoto gives the thought of visiting the infirmary all of two seconds before he waves it away, choosing instead to visit the third floor bathroom to splash his face with water. He's exasperated to see the lingering flush on his cheeks when he raises his head to glance at himself in the mirror, and he pats his face lightly with a huff, willing it away.

In his reflection his green eyes stand out brightly against his pink face. To his horror, his blush only deepens as he recalls one of Haru's offhanded remarks, unbidden, about how pretty his face looks when he's sex flushed.

“Stop it,” he whispers to his reflection, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cool glass, “you're being stupid. Get over it.”

“Get over what, Mako-chan?”

Makoto doesn't quite _slam_ his head against the mirror when he jumps, but he does bump it hard enough to leave a big fat red mark—and he can't help the yelp of pain that accompanies it.

 _“Ohmigod,_ Mako-chan, I'm so sorry!” Nagisa wails, hands waving frantically in the air as he hovers by Makoto with his lower lip wobbling dangerously, uncertain whether touching his friend will harm him even more or not. 

Makoto winces, because Nagisa's yelling reverberating around the tiled walls is _not_ helping the quickly-growing headache spreading from the center of his forehead. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“It's fine, Nagisa,” Makoto smiles weakly through only _slightly_ gritted teeth, gingerly rubbing his head and letting out a long breath. “It's my own fault for being such a scardey cat.”

“Aah, and I just wanted to make you feel better, too,” Nagisa sighs, magenta eyes falling sadly to the ground, where he's scuffing his feet. “I always seem to just mess everything up.”

Nagisa sounds so uncharacteristically dejected that Makoto forgets his headache for a moment, his hand dropping to his side as he raises his eyes to Nagisa's face to find, sure enough, that the ever present grin on his blond friend's face is missing, replaced by a troubled expression.

“Nagisa, why would you say that?” Makoto asks gently, hand twitching at his side as he barely restrains from instinctively trying to smooth back Nagisa's hair fondly.

Because Nagisa doesn't often let himself get open like this—about the serious stuff anyway—and he'd be far too easily giving his friend an out, a chance to tangent into something about Makoto being a mother hen, always knowing how to cheer him up! and altogether avoiding the issue at hand.

Thankfully it seems that whatever is troubling him enough to come talk to Makoto alone like this is pressing enough that Nagisa is willing to soldier on, giving a shy little shrug and he hugs his arms around his stomach. 

“I always let my mouth run on and on, and take things a step too far before I can stop myself. I'm sorry, Mako-chan,” he says, looking up at Makoto with such wide, apologetic ruby eyes that it makes Makoto's heart throb more than his head for a split second.

“Nagisa, no, it's okay,” Makoto hastens to assure him, no longer able to keep from reaching out, and he reaches out to grab Nagisa's hands in his own like the blond so often does.

“No, Mako-chan, it's not okay!” Nagisa does not take the opportunity to swing their arms together back and forth, and that's when Makoto _really_ starts to get how upset Nagisa is right now. 

“I mean, I know that you and Haru-chan have only been together for a while, even though, like, we all thought that you guys have been dating since middle school, even Rin-chan—” (Nagisa is clearly on a roll, and so keeps speaking on through Makoto's startled splutters of _“say what now?”_ )— “but I don't wanna make you _uncomfortable.”_

Makoto somehow doubts that Nagisa means that, but he figures he means it in the most harmless way possible, so he kind of gets where the smaller swimmer is going with this.

“We really all thought you were joking during my birthday party,” Nagisa says sadly, his lower lip sticking out a little as his eyes drop back down to the floor again. “We should have-- _I_ should have known better than to think you were lying.”

“You were really, really drunk,” Makoto points out helpfully.

“You're a _Mako-chan,”_ Nagisa replies seriously, “and Mako-chan's never lie.”

Makoto can't not smile at something stated that's so purely _Nagisa_ as _that,_ so he doesn't fight it. It seems to cheer Nagisa up somewhat, if the slight sway that is cautiously beginning to build between their arms is any indication, so Makoto just lets his arms go slack and goes with it.

“So, like, of course I wasn't really paying attention to what I was saying up there—'cause, like, _it's fun_ messing with Haru-chan, y'know—? it's so _fun_ trying to get him riled up, and now that you're _actually_ dating it's easier than ever, and hey—I'll take the cheap shots as I seem 'em,” Nagisa explains brightly, before his tone drops down to a unusually bashful one, “but sometimes, I forget that you're _new_ to this—you're like, like a baby bird, you're delicate.”

 _“You're new to this, too. And_ I'm not _delicate,”_ Makoto interjects, slightly miffed.

“Shh, don't speak, you're delicate,” Nagisa reassures him, briefly letting their hands part so he can raise them to pinch Makoto's cheeks, before he jabs him on the chest with a finger. “And I creamed my jammers when I was, like, twelve, remember? I've got _years_ on you, Mako-chan,” he adds without batting an eye as he reclaims Makoto's larger hands in his own.

Someone walks into the restroom, but they stop short at the pair of swimmers standing in the middle of the room holding hands.

Makoto isn't sure what they can possibly be thinking is going on, what with the way he's helplessly spluttering and his face is probably fire engine red, but Nagisa helpfully glances over his shoulder to inform them “we're having a moment” before they quietly (wisely) back out.

 _“As I was saying,”_ Nagisa speaks over the sound of the door swinging shut and Makoto's increasingly shrill choking sounds. “You’re still a rookie, and therefore deserve to be treated accordingly. With delicate words, respect and, of course, advice.”

 _“Advice?”_ Makoto gasps in a pique of morbid curiosity, the first coherent word he can manage after a good minute of straight-up mangled syllables.

The look in Nagisa's eyes somehow promises _absolute evil_ despite the innocent smile on his lips.

“You've got to have questions for someone as worldly and experienced as me,” Nagisa nods, agreeing with the certainty of his own words on Makoto's behalf while the brunet is still mostly struck speechless, because this _really wasn’t_ where he thought this conversation was going at all.

He isn't sure he's even mentally _prepared_ for it to go this way, to be honest.

But.

But. To be really, _brutally_ honest?

“I...might--” Makoto starts, stops short as it comes out in a squeak, and he slams his eyes shut to avoid staring into the startled look of delight that brightens Nagisa's face, “... _might._ Have. Um. Been wondering. How to—err, about? Well. That. That thing you were. Uh, what you were joking about earlie--”

 _“Say no more,”_ Nagisa all but shrieks, holding his hand out in his favorite dramatic motion to halt a conversation before he—yup, as expected, grabs Makoto's wrist and starts to drag him off to places unknown.

“Mako-chan, lunch doesn't end for another fifteen minutes and Rei-chan and Haru-chan will be bickering about the benefits of track verses swimming I started for at least _ten of those_ before they realize how long we've been gone.”

“But where are we going?” Makoto asks desperately, not at all immune to the many stares that follow a tiny blond leading a brunet that towers over him off at something approaching the speed of light.

Nagisa merely stops short as his answer, gesturing grandly to the door they've stopped in front of.

“Where else?” he crows. Makoto's eyes dart to the label.

The computer lab.

Wait.

No.

 _“Nagisa?”_ Makoto asks sharply, warningly (and no his voice totally _does not break_ ). Nagisa blinks rapidly at him for all of three seconds before he bursts into laughter and shoves Makoto lightly.

 _“Naughty,_ Mako-chan—that's not what we're doing at all, you _pervert,”_ Nagisa says, but his eyes are still glimmering with enough mischief that Makoto isn't really all that reassured.

He realizes his fears are spot on as Nagisa whips out his smartphone.

“We're just using MS Paint for the diagrams,” he whispers before yanking Makoto helplessly in.

It somehow manages to simultaneously be the most excruciatingly long yet heart-poundingly fast ten minutes of Makoto's life – crammed with more knowledge than Makoto could have ever hoped to learn on his own, made possible thanks to the many years of porn surfing Nagisa has accumulated that bring them to this fated moment

And by the end of it?

Yeah.

They’re so thorough that Makoto even gets the pineapple joke.

Oh. But—also? By the end of it?

Makoto—through all the embarrassment, the spluttering, and the many headaches he gets from all the blood rushing to his face again and again—has never been so grateful to Nagisa in his life.

“You should never be embarrassed to say what you're feeling, to ask for what you want Mako-chan,” Nagisa caps off as he leads them back up stairs, his words slightly winded from their sprint back up the stairwell to the rooftop. “Sex is totally an awesome, physical thing—but it should be a baring, super emotional connection without any shame, you know?”

“Yeah,” Makoto says after a beat, a shy smile touching his lips as he's immediately drawn back to that summer night, where Haru made himself Makoto's everything, made Makoto his own. Nagisa glanced back at him, probably at the tone of his voice, and his face softens.

And, being Nagisa, promptly launches at him to hug him, koala style, narrowly avoiding throwing them back down the stairs in a disgruntled (most likely fractured and broken) heap.

Thankfully, they make it back up to the roof in one piece where, sure enough, Rei and Haru are still speaking emphatically, empty bentos long since abandoned on the ground.

Makoto's heart leaps into his throat at the emotion shining bright in Haru's eyes as he fervently protects his stance on Swimming Is Everything, and he can't help the goofy grin that spreads on his lips.

Upon glancing sidelong at Nagisa, he's pretty sure he sees the very same smile on Nagisa's face as he stares adoringly at Rei.

Yeah. He figures they got pretty lucky.

“--Makoto.” Makoto blinks suddenly as he notices those blue, blue eyes are now staring directly into his, and with a start he realizes that the emotion that usually quietly dims when the topic has moved on from water is _still there, plain as day._

Haru's looking at him like that again.

Like he's the ocean.

It still makes his toes curl a little in happiness.

“Are you alright? You didn't really eat anything.” There's a little dip in between Haru's brow, barely noticeable, probably invisible to anyone who hasn't spent a lifetime silently loving that face. He's worried. Realized by now how long it's been since he slipped away, since Nagisa went out after him.

“I'm fine, Haru-chan,” Makoto reassures him warmly, reaching a hand out to help Haru to his feet, only then packing up his bento in his bag for later. “I wasn't really all that hungry anyway—not when we rushed out eating breakfast this morning.” Haru seems to accept this explanation, nodding his head once in acquiescence before shouldering his bag.

“Besides,” Nagisa pipes in helpfully, sweetly as he holds the door open for them, “we're still gonna get some popsicles after school!”

Haru hums in agreement as he passes Nagisa by, reaching out briefly to tousle his hair as he passes him on his way down the stairs after Rei.

So Haru doesn't see the way Nagisa is _leering_ at Makoto. Or, for that matter, the way Makoto stops short and just _Looks_ at Nagisa.

With a face that manages to be shocked, impressed, and resigned, all at once.

“You are a sneaky bastard,” Makoto informs him as he walks through the door Nagisa is holding open, very much relishing the startled, miffed, and choking squawk of a laugh that escapes Nagisa behind him.

The rest of school flies by and so does practice—and before he knows it, the whole gang is walking out of the convenience shoppe nearby, cold treats in hand, alternatively talking excitedly about their weekend plans or listening to the commotion.

Makoto feels the expected poke on his shoulder, and he grins as he splits his and Haru's shared popsicle, handing it off to the raven-haired teen without a thought and watches him slurp the whole thing into his mouth in one easy gulp, pursing his lips around the end and --

Oh.

_Shit._

_**Fuck** ,_ actually. Because Makoto probably won't _not_ be making _that_ connection in his head ever again, and that's a really uncomfortable thought, because this is totally a thing they've shared that goes back to childhood.

Wow, great, yeah, that totally makes it better—he's just gonna have to _not look at Haru_ for the rest of this popsicle's life.

Though, Makoto figures with a hard swallow, unable to help but steal one last glance at the treat Haru's devouring beside him, it doesn't seem like it's going to have the longest life span.

Not with the way Haru's working his mouth around it and _oh for the love of--_

He kind of falters when he feels eyes boring into the back of his head, and he cranes his head to stare at Nagisa in a way he means to be accusing but just feels woeful. From the way the innocent smile plastered onto Nagisa's lips twitches, he feels he's probably right.

He glances down at his own half, sitting innocently in his hand, a little bead running down the side and he has to close his eyes and compose himself, like, _now._

It's a fucking popsicle. He's eaten a hundred of these before.

Okay. He can do this.

He turns to send a triumphant look at Nagisa over his shoulder, but.

But Nagisa is ready for him, and he's just.

Smiling. Sweetly.

Walking, cool as can be, with his left hand raised up with his thumb tucked firmly, pointedly into his fist.

Makoto slowly turns his head back around in defeat, lifting his popsicle to his lips and sullenly popping it in there.

And if he has his other hand tucked into his pants pocket, what of it?

No one has to know he's got his thumb squeezed tight in the palm of his hand as he turns his head briefly away from Haru as he tries to deepthroat his popsicle as fervently as possible.

Because this is Makoto's life, he splutters and coughs so hard and loud he doubles over, Haru smacking his back in alarm for the third time that day.

Nagisa can't stop laughing long enough to explain to anybody why he's laughing. Rei has to half carry him the rest of the way to the station as he staggers hysterically with laughter, tears streaming down his face as he just points and shakes his head at Makoto.

Makoto figures he’s had this conversation coming for a few hours now, so it’s no surprise that as soon as Rei and Nagisa part ways, step out of the train to get off at their station, Haru turns on him.

“What is going on?” Haru asks, sounding far more bewildered than Makoto has heard him in a long time. “Where were you at lunch? What did Nagisa say to you? I swear, if he followed you just to make you more uncomfortable--” Haru begins, his eyes starting to narrow dangerously.

Makoto is oddly touched by Haru wanting to rush to defend his honor, but he figures assuring Haru that no harm need come to Nagisa is the more important factor to keep in mind right now.

“I'm find, Haru-chan,” Makoto assures him with a smile, reaching over to surreptitiously cover Haru's hand with his own between their seats, squeezing softly and inwardly melting over the way Haru immediately flips his hand around to twine their fingers together and squeeze back. 

“I promise Nagisa didn't upset me—he actually wanted to apologize. He really meant it,” he adds, pleased with the way Haru's shoulders relax further.

“He...he also...” Makoto trails off, and Haru's attention is piqued again—but now Makoto can't quite meet Haru's eyes. He can feel them, though, steadily studying his profile.

“Makoto?” Haru asks softly, tugging a little on Makoto's hand so their joined hands rest more firmly in Haru's lap—a quiet reassurance.

It's just what Makoto needs.

“He just talked to me, about some stuff—stuff that I needed to, talk about,” he blurts out, feeling stupid as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Because Haru's frowning--not in his usual way, but the way that means he's hurt.

“And you couldn't talk about it with me, why?” Haru asks, raising a brow and clearly trying not to look upset.

“Because I was embarrassed,” Makoto confesses, “but he set me straight. He really did, Haru. He told me how silly it was for me not to feel comfortable talking about it with you.”

Haru tries to school his features, but Makoto doesn't miss the reluctantly impressed, grateful look that passes over his best friend's face. “Good,” is what Haru eventually settles on, before quickly tacking on “what is it?”

“Well,” Makoto coughs, looking up only to become suddenly fascinated with the way the handlebars are swaying gently with the rocking of the train. “That's. Not really something to. Talk about on the train, I think,” he says at last, his voice trailing off into a high pitched whisper.

Haru looks intrigued, but satisfied for the moment, settling back with a nod and clutching Makoto's hand tighter in his own smaller one. Makoto's heart swells, full of thanks and relief and a fair bit of nerves, but he settles back in his seat, letting their shoulders touch.

They sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the stops before their station, watching the sunset-washed scenery rush by. Haru's thumb moves back and forth in soothing sweeps over the back of Makoto's hand. Makoto feels silly all over again for ever having worried about talking to Haru.

Eventually they reach their stop, and they walk out of the car holding hands, headed straight to Haru's house. It's a Friday—and Makoto has thankfully long since stopped feeling compelled to stop by his place to let his parents know where he'll be if they need him.

In their own amused words as they shooed him over to Haru's for the weekend a week ago --if there really is a problem, they are fully capable of walking up the stone stairs—or, heaven forbid, calling his phone.

(Makoto is sometimes still surprised at how sassy his parents can be, and vaguely wonders where his own, perpetual earnestness comes from. Ren and Ran already seem to be full recipients of their sass, after all.)

But by this point, they've taken off their shoes and stored them at the cubby by the door to trade for slippers, he's sprawled out on the plush couch, and Haru has practically settled himself in his lap.

“Now talk,” Haru says sternly, prodding his boyfriend with a finger, and Makoto can't quite keep from smiling despite himself. “What was so important that you couldn't talk to me about first, and even _Nagisa_ somehow respected its sanctity enough to manage keeping from spilling it the rest of the day?”

Makoto bites his lip and forces himself to take a long, steadying breath. “I just. Well. This morning, I was—well, no, at lunch I started thinking...”

Makoto has to physically shut his mouth to keep from blurting out more words and just. Stop and _think about what he's trying to say_ for a moment.

“There's something...I've wanted to ask you about. Lately. Ask. Ask about doing—trying,” Makoto amends, his words faltering as he carefully chooses them, and he wills himself not to blush as he lifts his head to meet Haru's patient eyes. 

Somehow, contrary to what he thought, looking at Haru gives him the last of the resolve he needs to steel himself before stuttering it out.

“I want you to—to try b-blowing me. A-and. And I wanna blow you. Too.”

Haru blinks.

“Okay.”

Makoto nearly falls over, he's caught so completely off guard.

“Oka—that's it? Really?” he gapes, blinking at Haru as if he's some inexplicable phenomenon. Haru arches an eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Really. Did you...not... _want_ to hear that?” he asks slowly, and a little hesitation starts to pucker his brow. “Because we don’t need t--”

“No!” Makoto blurts out, before waving his hands madly to try and backtrack. “I mean, _no,_ I didn't _not_ want to hear it, I – I _wanted_ to hear it, I just, wasn't-- _it's really okay?”_ Makoto settles for asking again, bewildered.

Haru goes from looking immensely relieved to pretty amused. “Why wouldn't that be okay?” he asks softly, lifting a hand to brush his knuckles softly, fondly over the curve of Makoto's jaw. “I already told you I wanted to do that with you, one day.”

“Y-yeah--I--I _know,_ but,” Makoto stammers, his cheeks exploding with color as he recalls that moment for what has the be the hundredth time. “I thought...I don't know, you were just...”

“What, just saying that?” Haru asks doubtfully, his other brow raising to join its twin in disbelief. “Makoto, why wouldn't I want to try that with you?” he asks, shaking his head a little. 

“I want to do everything with you, Makoto—I know I've only said it once, but I'll say it again, now. I want to try everything with you. Only you. And only when you're ready,” he adds seriously, but his expression is soft.

“And if you're ready to move on to that, I'm ready, too.”

Makoto bites his lip and wills the stinging in his eyes away, but he can't help but blink away a few misty tears. Haru's hands are there in a flash to wipe them away with his thumbs, before he leans in to press a kiss to Makoto's lips. 

But their lips connect he pauses, lips so close Makoto's feel like they're tingling, and he shivers at the soft breath ghosting over his face.

“Just tell me what you want, Makoto,” Haru murmurs, “say the word, and I'll give it to you.”

The kiss that follows is soft and warm and surprisingly chaste after such forward words--but it's somehow filled with enough promise behind it that Makoto gives a little shudder as he kisses back, his hands coming up to cover Haru's where they're cupping his face.

He feels Haru's lips quirk up against his in a small smile and the next thing he knows he's being pressed back into the cushions with Haru hovering above, kissing the living daylights out of him.

This, he can do. This is something he knows, safe, comfortable and Makoto relaxes into the familiar, wrapping his arms around Haru's shoulders with a happy little sound and arching up against Haru's body just to feel him there.

Haru trails his mouth down from Makoto's lips to his jaw, nuzzling just below his ear and huffing a soft breath against the sensitive skin, making Makoto squirm.

Makoto loves it, _loves_ this—how Haru has been so patient, so meticulous and gentle and _absolutely loving_ with him, that he knows just how to wind him up, that he's learned just how to push Makoto's buttons.

It feels...feels like Haru is taking his time with him, every time. Whether they're just kissing, or they're touching each other, Haru makes it feel like Makoto is all that there is, that there's nothing else – no outside world or problems to worry about, like all there is is the present, is him and Makoto – and Makoto can only hope that he can return a fraction of that sentiment to Haru.

Haru has spent countless hours over the past weeks and months carefully mapping out each and every spot that makes Makoto squirm, makes him whimper, makes him outright moan, and Makoto is mortified and delighted all at once. 

Because it's so much. Haru cares, so much, and Makoto figures he's the luckiest guy in the world to have someone like that all to himself.

Haru's taught him, too. Showed him exactly _how_ he likes to be touched, _where_ he likes to be touched, and always, _always_ encourages Makoto to find more for himself. Lies back and shamelessly lets him know what he's feeling, tells hims what feels good, what feels _better_ – harder, softer, _Makoto, please_ – and Makoto thanks his lucky stars that Haru isn't even a fraction as quiet in bed as he is 90% of the rest of the time.

Because doing stuff like that to Haru? It's amazing.

“Makoto,” Haru gasps softly as the brunet gently grazes his nails down the nape of his neck, and Haru's entire body arches towards the touch, not unlike a cat, and Makoto bites back a smile as he does it again, just to hear the closed-mouth moan Haru gives this time.

“Haru,” he breathes back, shakily, letting his eyes flutter closed as his head tips back when Haru leans in to drag his lips down his throat, kissing down his Adam's apple to mouth over the dip of his collarbone—pressing a kiss there, like a secret, and making Makoto's lips twitch into a tiny smile.

Haru pulls back a little, just enough for his blue eyes to meet Makoto's hazy green ones, and he must see something on his face that pushes him into motion again, because his hands fly up to Makoto's tie to deftly remove it before working on his button down shirt—turning that uncanny knack he has for undressing on his boyfriend and ridding him of his uniform in what feels like seconds.

Because it feels like Makoto blinks, and Haru's already pushing his pants down his legs, frowning the tiniest bit when they get stuck at his knees.

“Haru,” Makoto laughs breathlessly, “Haru, _wait,”_ he says again when Haru gives a harder, frustrated tug, and he gently pries Haru's hands from his slacks, kissing the back of each hand. 

Haru settles for working on his own clothes, apparently placated with his kisses and watches intently as Makoto kicks his pants off the rest of the way. Makoto does not, in fact, miss the way Haru's eyes darken as his gaze travels lower when Makoto bashfully presses a palm idly against his arousal, biting his lip at how bad he wants this, wants Haru.

To be fair, though, he is a little...

“Nervous?” Makoto startles a bit, blinking up at Haru when the slender teen presses his thumb against his lower lip, gently prying it from where he's trapped it between his teeth – and he winces just the slightest bit when he runs the pad of his thumb over the indents, and okay, so he was biting that a _lot_ harder than he realized.

“We don't have to do this,” Haru says softly, sounding deadly serious even as his eyes are wider now, bright with concern. “Not now. Not ever, if that's not something that you want.”

Makoto's heart gives a _pang_ — because god, Haru is too much, sometimes, the most loving person he knows, and he just doesn't get how people can't see that like he can-- “No, _no_ Haru, that's not it—I do want to, I just—”

“Because I swear to God, if Nagisa made you feel pressured into doing this”--and then Haru's eyes go wide, like a deer caught in the headlights – before narrowing into slits as he lets out an angry _tch--_

“Oh my God. _The fucking popsicles,”_ Haru growls

And.

And Makoto can't help it. He nearly falls off the couch laughing himself silly—it's only Haru's swift reflexes that help him catch himself when he kind of curls into himself choking on his laughter.

“Haru,” Makoto gasps through his tears, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his palms, “it's fine, don't worry about it.'

“That kid is the devil,” Haru deadpans, but he's visibly struggling to hold onto his anger, because Makoto is giggling, and Haru's never been very good at glaring in the face of Makoto's smile, let alone his laughter.

“But... yeah,” Makoto finally manages to say outright rather than squeak out, still rubbing his eyes through his laughter, “the popsicles.”

“So, when you started choking,” Haru starts, a little haltingly, a lot uncertain. Makoto's smile gets a little smaller, but not any less sincere—just bashful.

“Yeah,” he admits meekly, licking his lips and dropping his head to rest his forehead against Haru's shoulder. “I tried. Uh. Tried,” he finally settles for as answer enough, looking embarrassed. Haru makes a soft, noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

“And?”

“And, what?” Makoto asks, a little bewildered, pulling away to look at Haru. Haru just shrugs.

“How was it?” Makoto gives a startled laugh and glances away.

“Too cold?” This time it's Haru's turn to smile at Makoto’s answer, and he leans in to brush a kiss to the corner of Makoto's mouth. “Yeah, well, I don't think that'll be something to worry about,” he murmurs against Makoto's cheek before pressing another kiss to his face for good measure.

Soft, butterfly kisses turn into a few heated ones until they're back to lying pressed against one another on the couch, moving against each other with soft pants and bitten moans.

“God, I want you,” Haru breathes, and Makoto feels a warm rush of anticipation race from his fingers to his toes as he trails a slow, wet trail of kisses down from Makoto's clavicle to his chest, making Makoto gasp and arch a little in surprise when he mouths over his nipple, flicking it with his tongue.

“W-wah...want you too, H-Haru,” Makoto stutters, swallowing thickly, jerking with a stifled whine when Haru ghosts his teeth over the hardened nub.

Makoto arches with a stifled sound when Haru's mouth makes an abrupt turn south, and Makoto's hips cant up in surprise as he catches the hem of Makoto's boxers between his teeth to tug them down.

 _“Haru!”_ Makoto half gasps, half squeaks, face flushing scarlet and hands flying to cover his face in embarrassment as Haru eases his underwear down, his erection springing free to curl flush against his belly. Haru merely smirks up at him from between his legs before ducking his head to press a kiss to Makoto's knee, making the brunet hide a smile behind his hands.

“Stop hiding, Makoto,” Haru chastises softly, lips pressed to Makoto's other knee as he stares pointedly up at his boyfriend.

Makoto's green eyes peer timidly out at Haru through his fingers, before after another moment's hesitation, he slowly, reluctantly lets his hands slide down to his sides, fingers grappling nervously at the fabric of the cushions beneath them.

“Just tell me if it's too much. If you want to stop,” Haru says casually, as if he's not busy nipping and kissing his way up along his inner thighs, leaving a trail of bruises blooming in the wake of his lips.

A weak _“mhmm”_ is all Makoto can manage, and it takes everything he has not to lift his arms to hide his face again as Haru nuzzles the inside of one trembling thigh, instead grasping at the back of the couch to grip tight as he peppers kisses all over the insides of his legs.

But when Haru's lips graze the juncture between his groin and thigh, Makoto can't help the whimper that tears itself from his throat; it's loud and sharp enough that Haru glances worriedly up at him, eyes searching his face. 

Makoto swears his cheeks are on fire at the blatant desire turning Haru's eyes more dark than blue, only the slimmest ridge of color visible around blown pupils.

Makoto's chest is heaving as he stares down with wide eyes at his best friend when he finally pulls away from the hollow of his thigh to turn his focus to Makoto's cock—flushed and already sticky with precum.

Makoto makes a soft, helpless sound in the back of his throat when Haru unconsciously licks his lips as he takes the sight of Makoto in, and he can't help the way he shudders beneath the dark-haired swimmer's scrutiny.

“Can I?” Haru asks mildly but seriously, glancing up at his lover for permission, and Makoto almost wants to laugh – because who even _asks permission_ to give a _blowjob,_ only Haru— ridiculous, loving, amazing Haru.

“Um, y-yeah. _I-I mean_ \--ifyouwant,” Makoto adds in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if it can help ease the furious blush from his cheeks.

“Oh, Makoto,” Haru hums, eyes flickering darker with hunger, “I want to.”

And with that, Haru dips his head and gives a short, hot swipe of his tongue along the length--

And Makoto's mind goes very pleasantly blank. All the worries, the insecurities, all the quicksilver thoughts flickering through his head just—

“—stop?”

Haru's voices comes crashing into Makoto's ears, and he jerks back to his senses with a startled, eloquent _“hngh?”_ But Haru's concerned face is already melting into one of relieved amusement, and an odd, sudden tension that must have gathered in his shoulders goes slack.

“Sorry, you scared me—you just kind of jerked really hard. And kind of nearly kicked me. In the face,” Haru says dismissively, and Makoto's hands cover his mouth in a kind of belated horror as he realizes Haru has one of his ankles grasped with a gentle firmness.

“I—gah—sorry, _sorry, Haru!_ I'm so--” Makoto gasps, mortified tears springing to his eyes, but the rest of his apologies must be superfluous to Haru, because he's already ducked his head back down to drag his tongue along Makoto's shaft again—effectively shutting him up.

Well.

Shutting up might not _quite_ be the word for it.

“ _ **Fuck** ,_” Makoto hisses as he throws his head back—and thank god Haru is able to read him so well, because Haru lets go of Makoto's leg to drape his arm firmly across Makoto's hips as he leans forward, effectively pinning him down when his hips buck desperately up towards the sweet heat of Haru's mouth.

“God, Makoto,” Haru groans against Makoto's lower belly, lazily lapping at the shiny sticky spots of precome spread over his skin, “you taste so _good.”_

Makoto _whines_ as his cock gives a nearly painful throb at Haru's words, and Haru seems to take that as all the invitation he needs to go back to lavishing Makoto's cock with attention, one hand curling loosely around the base as he raises himself a little to lap curiously at the tip.

Makoto immediately has to let go of the couch he's clinging onto for dear life to drape his arm over his eyes so he doesn't cum right then and there, because it's too erotic, watching Haru as he does this.

“Makoto,” Haru says, his voice muffled, and Makoto's toes curl because _Haru is talking with his cock in his mouth, **fuck** that's hot._ “I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

“I-- _ngh-c-can't,”_ Makoto chokes out in a whimper – and the last, cognitive bit of his brain that has somehow held on through all this _wishes_ for a quick death at just how _pathetic_ he sounds. “I-if I look, I-I'm gonna cum,” he whispers, abashed.

Haru makes a noise like a dying animal, and it's enough to make Makoto peek out from beneath his arm to look at his boyfriend.

As usual, the sight makes him stop and stare.

Because Haru looks on the verge of finishing, himself; his usual mask of indifference shattered some time ago as he looks Makoto up and down with something bordering on reverence. 

His cheeks are flushed—probably just as dark as his own, if Makoto is being honest—and his blue eyes are open wide, as if he's afraid to miss anything by so much as blinking.

“It's okay, Makoto,” Haru blurts out but he stops short, because he clearly has to take a moment to steady himself, lips trembling where he's pursued them tightly together as he takes a deep, composing breath through his nose.

“It's fine. We can do this again. Again. As much as we want,” he says shakily, almost more to himself than Makoto before his gaze meets his boyfriend’s suddenly; and Makoto can't look away even if he wanted to. Not with the intensity blazing in Haru's eyes.

“I want to make you cum, Makoto. I want to taste you,” Haru says so softly, Makoto almost thinks he imagined it—but the way Haru ducks his head to determinedly swallow him down in the next moment is enough to change his mind.

Because. Because, well.

Makoto's big. He knows that—Haru's offhanded comments about it and Nagisa's casual jokes in the locker room about Makoto being big _“in every sense of the word!”_ only reaffirm what he's always already figured.

But Haru swallows him down like it's _nothing._

Makoto tries to say his name, but he's kind of forgotten how words work, and his mouth isn't cooperating very well aside from asserting that his vocal chords are, indeed, working overtime – even if he's not really making any sense.

Haru hums, low and deep down in his throat as he starts to bob his head, just slightly—and it feels like Makoto's entire being is coming undone.

 _“Haru,”_ he finally manages to rasp out shrilly, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggles to remember to breathe-- _“Haru, how are you doing that?”_

Haru pulls off at his stupefied query (and Makoto almost wants to cry, because he wants to _needs to **has to**_ have that sweet hot wet mouth back on him, right away, right _fucking **now**_ ) looking only slightly miffed about being interrupted.

“Don't have a gag reflex,” Haru replies simply, licking idly at the corners of his pinked, slightly swollen lips. Makoto swears what little bit that’s left of his ability to formulate thought shuts down right then and there, because well doesn’t that just make a whole lot of fucking sense -- how else could Haru swallow those popsicles down so fast?

 _Goddamn,_ his boyfriend is _**so hot.**_

Leave it to Haru, to be naturally gifted at just about _everything._

Not that Makoto’s _complaining._ Now with the way Haru decides that this conversation has gone as far as it’s intended, if the way he swallows down Makoto’s cock again is any indication.

“I--”

But then Makoto registers a flicker of color, and he realizes he's staring straight down into Haru's too blue eyes, bright through heavy lashes; he can't pull his eyes away from how his cheeks are hollowed carefully around Makoto's cock, working his mouth clumsily but determinedly around him and _then._

 _Then,_ Haru does _something_ wicked with his tongue before he lets his length slip mostly out from his mouth to suckle thoughtfully at the head—and bright spots dance before Makoto's eyes as he lets out a hoarse, strangled shout of Haru's name, his hips bucking up towards Haru's mouth as he comes _hard._

Haru makes a muffled sound of surprise which quickly melts into a moan of what Makoto can only describe as unabashed delight as he does his best to swallow as quickly as he can before he has to pull away, gasping for breath.

When Makoto's eyes finally focus, the little sparks in his vision finally scattering away, Haru's wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and there's cum spattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

_Makoto wants to crawl in a pit and die._

“Oh. My god. Haru,” Makoto meeps out at long last, slowly, haltingly. “I am. So sorry.”

“Why?” Haru asks as his tongue darts out to clean a little dot of cum from the corner of his mouth, a little too nonchalantly for Makoto's taste, 'cause, well, he just sort of _came all over his boyfriend's face._

And it's not a big deal? _It's **kind of a big deal** , right?_ It's a big deal—is it a big deal?

“You're. Not mad?” he asks, hoping against hope – and he blinks in dazed confusion when Haru shoots him one of his Looks along with an emphatic _“No.”_

It's one of those Looks that means Makoto's being adorably naïve, again, but in a way Haru doesn't really approve of because it means Makoto's unnecessarily beating on himself. And, seeing as they're in the middle of sex, Haru isn't really looking to verbally address it right now but will get around to it later.

Once again, Makoto silently thanks the powers that be for sending him the perfect other half.

So Makoto chooses to take Haru at his word, and just closes his eyes and revels in the lingering afterglow, stretching out languidly beneath Haru's weight as he waits for his limbs to remember how to operate.

Preferably as soon as possible. Because right now, as _fucking fantastic_ as Makoto feels, there's a certain, demanding hardness pressed against his thigh, and Makoto desperately wants to return the favor. As soon as possible.

Because _holy shit_ that was mind-blowing.

The only thing is...

Well...

“I don't think I'm gonna be nearly as good as you, Haru-chan,” Makoto confesses breathlessly, giving a nervous, self-deprecating little laugh as he pushes himself up with only slightly shaking arms, running his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully as he gazes down at Haru’s own, painful looking arousal.

Haru just gives a soft huff of breath and shakes his head, reaching out to run the back of his hand affectionately down Makoto’s cheek. “I didn’t know what I was doing, Makoto--I just wanted to make you feel good,” he murmurs. Makoto pauses where he’s slowly sliding to the floor beside the couch, blinking up at Haru from between his legs.

“Really?” he asks dubiously, but it comes out sounding a lot more hopeful than he means it to be, and he flushes despite himself, looking up at Haru for confirmation. Haru rolls his eyes, but Makoto can tell it’s out of fondness and not impatience – especially when Haru’s hand drops to gently card his fingers through Makoto’s brown strands. 

“Yeah,” Haru replies quietly, smiling a little. “I’m just as new at this as you are, Makoto. We’re on the same page now--you caught up,” he teases, but his face is earnest, full of patience and encouragement despite the way he shifts restlessly, his hand twitching as he fight from pressing his palm against himself for relief.

Makoto figures it’s high time he stopped wavering in uncertainty and tried to return the incredible favor Haru’s just given him.

So he gathers himself onto his knees, resting his elbows on Haru’s thighs for leverage as he takes a slow, steadying deep breath and leans oh so carefully in, pressing barely-there butterfly kisses to the soft skin of Haru’s lower belly, cheeks growing pink again when Haru’s cock twitches in interest against his cheek. 

Feeling emboldened by Haru’s clear, unwavering arousal, along with the soft, shuddering breath that escapes his boyfriend’s lips, Makoto gently rubs his cheek along Haru’s length, a tiny, bashful smile curling on his lips at the mangled noise that tears from Haru’s throat.

When he glances up from the corner of his eye through his lashes to see Haru’s face, he’s pleasantly surprised to see Haru already chewing on his lower lip--something he usually only does when he’s afraid he’s too close to orgasm, too soon. 

Makoto tries to keep in mind all the little touches Haru did that felt so good, and he finally settles for blowing softly across the tip, and he watches with rapt fascination as a pearly bead of precome drips down his shaft. 

He doesn’t think twice about leaning in to gently swirl his tongue over the tip to taste him.  
He could never have expected, however, how _loudly_ Haru would gasp his name at the innocent, exploratory motion, and he almost jerks away in surprise. 

But the way Haru’s hands fly to his shoulders to grip him tight for support, the way Haru’s head swings down to press against his chest with a muffled curse reminds Makoto that it’s good, it’s okay to startle Haru—after all, _he_ was pleasantly surprised at every little thing Haru did with his mouth.

Makoto drags his lips along Haru’s milky skin, mouthing softly at the spot just below his navel and, on a whim, gently grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin.

Haru nearly jumps out of his skin, if the way his nails bite briefly into Makoto’s shoulders and the way his hips buck are any indication.

“ _\--‘koto,”_ Haru blurts out suddenly, when Makoto’s suckling a dark mark just below the base of his cock, and Makoto is speechless at how _small,_ how _needy_ Haru’s voice is. “Mmm- _akoto,_ please,” he adds after a moment to gather his breath.

Makoto tilts his head a little with the coyest smile he can muster, blinking innocently up at his lover. “Please, what, Haru-chan?” he almost coos, delighted at the startled look that crosses Haru’s face only to be replaced by one of fervent want.

“I want to feel your mouth on me, want you to suck me off,” Haru replies shamelessly, letting his legs fall further open and canting his hips a little to put himself on full display. Makoto can’t help but cover his mouth with the back of his hand as he tries to keep himself composed, feeling the not-so-faint stirring of arousal all over again--but right now this is about Haru, and all Makoto wants to do is exactly what Haru wants.

So he takes another slow, calming breath, before he cautiously leans in to gingerly lick at the tip once more, then again, and again when Haru gives the sweetest, strangled moan each time—his hips trembling with the strain of not jerking forward. 

Makoto reaches out to grasp Haru’s hips to help him out, keeping him grounded as he carefully takes Haru halfway into his mouth and just looks up at Haru.

Makoto’s never seen Haru so keyed up in his life, except maybe before a big race, or when he’s anxious to  go swimming after the winter season. But even then, this sort of thrumming energy is utterly different.

Haru’s eyes are struggling to stay open, against the onslaught of sensation that Makoto now knows only too well, and Makoto finds himself absolutely charmed by the way Haru’s mouth hangs just the slightest bit open, like he doesn’t even realize (thought Makoto is willing to be that he just doesn’t care) that whimpers and gasps are falling steadily from his lips, in time with each of Makoto’s experimental ministrations. 

Makoto quickly learns a few things about Haru like this.

Haru can’t keep his eyes off Makoto when he takes him into his mouth, darkened blue eyes fixing on Makoto’s lips where they’re stretched around his cock. 

Haru makes this _unfairly_ arousing groan when Makoto traces the tip of his tongue over the vein along the underside. 

Haru’s fingers twitch where they’re buried in Makoto’s hair when he purses his lips tighter around his cock.

Makoto also rapidly discovers something else--something personal.

He definitely, _absolutely_ has a gag reflex. Tears prick at Makoto’s eyes are he struggles to take Haru in as deep as he can, and there’s a slight but rapidly growing panic when he realizes he can’t quite breathe--but god did it feel fucking amazing when Haru did it for him, so the least he can do is try, right?

“Ma--! _**ko** -to--”_ Haru gasps his name out in stilted syllables, barely strung together, and his head lolls slightly back as he shudders, hard, fingers scrabbling at the nape of Makoto’s neck. Makoto makes a muffled sound and tries to move his head.

Bad decision.

“ _Makoto **stop** \--stopstopstop,”_ Makoto thinks he’s saying but he can’t quite hear him over the blood pounding in his ears--but then he’s being pulled back, and he realizes oh, _fuck,_ breathing.

He hadn’t really been doing it.

Haru’s eyes wide and hazy with pleasure but filled with concern as he leans over Makoto, gripping his shoulders, blinking hard as if it can help to clear his head faster while Makoto gags and splutters and coughs, trying to gasp for air. 

“Makoto, breathe--your face is so red, are you okay? We can stop, I promise, it’s fine,” Haru asks quietly but urgently, running his fingers gently through the sweat dampened hair at Makoto’s nape over and over, looking more than a little guilty. 

Makoto _wishes_ his face was burning this red because he couldn’t gulp down enough breath, and he waves a hand weakly at Haru, unable to look up and meet his eyes, embarrassed. 

Sometimes he doesn’t understand how Haru is so. Understanding with him, when he seems to have so little patience with anything else the world has to offer. 

Makoto figures it must be because Haru uses his entire quota on him.

He generally tries not to question it, though, but when Haru is so incredibly selfless like this, it’s hard not to revel in just _how much_ Haru adores him.

“I’m fine, Haru, I just forgot to breathe” Makoto says, straining not to sound as hoarse as he is right now, talking through a throat still tight with panic over _forgetting to breathe??,_ like, _who even **does** that-- _

“And I don’t wanna stop,” he says seriously, looking up Haru intently. Haru looks wary, but Makoto can feel his face set with determination, and then.

Haru’s lips twitch. And Makoto can tell he’s holding back a reluctant smile even as he shakes his head and sighs an almost convincingly dry _“if you say so.”_

And just like that, everything’s okay again. His heart is not longer pounding frantically with worry, but with affection, with anticipation over trying again. 

He knows he wants to do this, he really does.

Just....properly.

So Makoto takes a steady breath in before ducking down again, taking Haru’s arousal into his mouth and slowly working his way forward, mindful to try _breathing through his nose_ this time, because his mouth is a bit _occupied, obviously._

“You don’t have to do that,” Haru admonishes weakly, but he’s chewing on the inside of his lip as he gazes down at Makoto--not a tell-tale sign of worry, but quiet want.

Makoto looks up at him through his lashes and revels in the sharp, inhale Haru takes as he lets his cock slip out of his mouth until just the head is in his mouth, and Makoto swears he watches Haru’s eyes melt from blue to black.

“I want to, though. How else am I gonna learn,” Makoto mumbles around him, pleased at the way a slow hiss of breath escapes through Haru’s teeth as he trembles with the urge not to buck up towards Makoto’s mouth.

Makoto knows he’s not ready to take Haru in that deep again, not so soon after he failed so spectacularly the first time ( _maybe next time_ flickers through his mind and sends a shiver of excitement down his spine), so he wraps one hand around the base of Haru’s cock, squeezing gently.

This is something he knows how to do, and Makoto instantly relaxes, gently slipping his thumb into his mouth to trace along the ridge of Haru’s cock, making Haru gasp, just like it always does. 

There’s familiarly of the warmth, the weight of Haru’s cock in his hand, the comfort of knowing what he’s doing--and Makoto finally, _finally_ realizes that he doesn’t _need_ to be nervous, he _never_ needed to be nervous. How silly is he being right now? 

He gets it now. What Haru was saying. How he didn’t know what he was doing he just--

_Did._

It’s just like the first time. It _is_ a first time. Just the same way as a few months ago, when Makoto didn’t even know how to get himself off with his hands, let alone Haru.

And now they’re learning this together--something even Haru doesn’t know exactly how to do, but is willing to try with Makoto.

His best friend. His boyfriend. His lover.

And this is _Haru. His_ best friend, _his_ boyfriend, _his_ lover. And Makoto just wants to make him feel good, loved, feel as amazing as he makes Makoto feel.

Makoto isn’t nervous anymore.

He’s. Really. _Really_ turned on, because Haru’s trembling with pleasure above him, lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks as he struggles to watch Makoto working his mouth around him, and _he’s doing that._

 _“Hnngh,”_ Haru keens lowly, his head dropping forward as he slams his eyes closed all of the sudden, his body jerking with each gentle, deliberate suck Makoto gives, hollowing his mouth around his cock like he remembers Haru doing before, and--

Haru can’t last that long this time, either.

A full bodied shudder racks its way through Haru’s slender frame and he makes an odd, desperate noise in the depths of his throat, fingers curling tight _tight_ into Makoto’s hair--just enough on this side of painful to make Makoto groan around Haru’s cock.

“-’koto,” Haru actually _whimpers,_ small and strained, and it’s all Makoto can do not to whimper right along with him. “Makoto, _Makoto,_ I-I’m g’na,” Haru chokes out warningly, trembling hands weakly, reluctantly trying to ease Makoto away.

Makoto responds by looking straight up into Haru’s eyes and reaching his free hand to press gently to the small of Haru’s back, pushing him forward, taking him as deep as he can into his throat and twisting his fingers on the next upstroke of Haru’s cock. 

And that’s all it takes. Haru’s mouth drops open into a small _‘o’_ , and his eyes snap shut, his hands flying to Makoto’s hair for something to cling to for dear life as his orgasm crashes over him. 

And he comes _hard,_ spine curving into a gorgeous arch as he shudders through his climax, and Makoto makes a sound of surprise (much like Haru did) when cum shoots down his throat, but he keeps his wits around him and breathes through his nose between quick, careful swallows.

He bobs his head a little, all the way through Haru’s aftershocks, until Haru gives a short, sharp sound in the back of his throat – and Makoto immediately pulls away, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth with the heel of his hand, watching as Haru flops bonelessly back into the couch, panting.

Makoto doesn’t really know what he’s expecting it to taste like, but it isn’t bad. Not bad at all.

Makoto idly litters kisses all over Haru’s thighs, his belly, his chest and finally his lips as he eases himself up from his sore knees to settle himself on the couch next to Haru.

Haru lets out a long, shuddering sigh as he slowly turns his head and blinks his eyes open to stare dazedly at Makoto, chest still rising and falling rapidly despite his attempts to catch his breath.

“Wow,” Haru finally manages at last, and Makoto drops his head to rest his forehead on Haru’s shoulder, smiling stupidly.

“Yeah, he agrees, a little dazed, very happy, “wow.”

“So we’re going to do that again,” Haru says idly, after a beat, and Makoto glances at him with a startled laugh.

“What, like, now?” Makoto gapes, his face torn between bewilderment and delight as Haru abruptly shifts to straddle him. _“Haru!”_ he half giggles, half moans when Haru dips his head to kiss at his neck.

“Practice makes perfect,” Haru replies casually against the curve of Makoto’s neck, and Makoto feels the smile spreading on his lips mirrored against his skin.

Yeah. If Makoto’s learned anything these last few months, it’s that practice is something he _knows_ he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked it, hated it? What did you think about it? It was fun, writing some awkward first time smut -- I don't think I've done it before, aside from this fic. There were so many times I had to stop and ask myself, "really? Would childhood sweethearts trying the sex actually be as smooth and perfect as they make it out to be like in the movies? _I don't think so._ " 
> 
> I can't apologize enough for how long this took me to you all--all I can hope is that it was worth the wait. My beloved beta and muse samurai.flo--who, as always, saved this fic from the devastation that is switching between tenses and stupid typos--assured me it wasn't, but she's too nice. But I know what's going on now, and where it's going - and I'm pretty sure you've figured out where the last chapter's eventually going, too. /hint hint 
> 
> So hopefully I'll have an easier time finishing up the last chapter, but if the way this chapter took me an unexpected zillion or so words to get off my chest, the last one's probably gonna be a doozey to write.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, you guys-- _you_ keep me inspired and I adore you  <3


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